January 2010 Reflection

Posted on January 1, 2010 by aharbison10

After a nice Christmas break at home with my family and friends (and a trip to witness Alabama win its 13th National Championship at the Rose Bowl), I came back to Belfast for a grueling week of exams. Three 4-hour essay writing sessions, lots of revision (aka studying), and some interwoven American TV show study breaks, and I am finished, feeling confident, and looking forward to another semester of study and travel. In fact, as I write this, I am preparing for a week-long adventure and hunt for Nessie in Scotland with Alec, Bre, and Christina.

While at home, I developed a spiel to deliver for the countless times I got asked “How is Ireland?” or “What’s your favorite part?” The latter question was easy to answer. A celebratory session at the Parlour and an evening of watching a football match on TV with my classmates is the simplest representation of my favorite part of the Emerald isle…the people.

Born and raised in the heart of Dixie with its famous Southern hospitality, I am quite accustomed to kind, charming, down to earth people. I didn’t expect to find anything comparable in Ireland and even expected people might be cold. While it is true that I have had bad interactions, overall, people are friendly, cheery, helpful, and interested in an American in Belfast. Moreover, it is my relationships with the people I now call friends, my classmates, that I value most in my experience thus far.

Almost from the first day of class, I feel like I was taken under the wing by my classmates as they explained things I needed to know to survive and answered my many questions on things I was curious about or did not understand. Four months in, and I still find myself entranced by the flowing conversation and banter that takes place when I sit around with them. Topics flow freely from analyzing the latest happenings in the English Premier League to politics to music to climate change to tales of their days at Uni (undergraduate). People are referred to as “your man” or “your boy,” which really confused me for quite a while. I have gone from not knowing anything to being deemed worthy of being adopted as an honorary real Irishman. It is something that they just said in passing over a pint, but that acceptance meant more to me than I would have ever expected. I also did not anticipate how much I absorbed from my newfound friends until I got home and kept getting odd looks when I would talk about going out with the lads or asking someone for a fiver.

Northern Ireland recently has been rocked by quite the political scandal. Iris Robinson, a member of the Assembly and wife of the ruling First Minister, resigned after news leaked that she had an affair with a 19 year old and used her position to open a café for him to operate. While the sex scandal was bad enough, the misuse of power and unreported exchange of money that she got from investors broke all kinds of Assembly rules. Her husband, the First Minister Peter Robinson, has become entangled, as he knew about this, so he has stepped aside for six weeks. Meanwhile, the parties, DUP and Sinn Fein, have still been trying to find a solution on the divisive issue of policing and justice devolution. This story is relevant for the one short related news clip that came up on my Google Reader. After the news broke, Peter Robinson and Deputy First Minister Martin McGuiness were meeting on the matter, as Robinson planned to step aside. As the meeting ended, McGuiness extended his had to Peter Robinson to show his support and sympathy for the personal trouble he was facing. The story here was that this was the first time the two had ever shaken hands. The top two political leaders of Northern Ireland, who run the government, have offices mere feet from one another, and who had served together in the Assembly for more than a decade, had never shaken hands. The defining factor is that one is an ardent Protestant Unionist and the other is an Irish Catholic Republican, the core issue of all the Troubles and political strife in Northern Ireland.

Unlike some of my fellow Mitchell Scholars, I do not consider myself an expert on conflict and have little experience with issues. I am, simply, a political junkie, who has become mesmerized by the issues here and how they overtake everyday life. The next generation has the potential and the ability to change this situation in Northern Ireland. The hatred and prejudice do not have to continue, and sustained peace is possible. I feel this way because of the interactions and conversations that I have been able to have with my classmates and others who come from both sides. They are tired of the fighting and weary of politicians that people don’t trusted. President Kennedy, a son of Ireland, once said, “Any dangerous spot is tenable if brave men will make it so.” It us up to the next generation to take action and become within their communities to help people come together. I do not claim to understand all of the sectarian problems, but the idealist in me feels confident a rising generation working together with political courage can improve relations.

Posted in Class of 2010, Queen's University Belfast | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on January 2010 Reflection

January 2010 Reflection

Posted on January 1, 2010 by aschierenbeck10

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. In my case, the time I spent back in the U.S. for the holidays could hardly have done more to heighten my appreciation for Ireland.

Sure, as any of the fellow scholars can tell you, I like to complain about what’s missing over here. I’m from Brooklyn – we kvetch. Ireland’s version of the bagel is overpriced, ring-shaped white bread I wouldn’t inflict on the ducks in St. Stephen’s Green. Seltzer, if it’s available it all, is considered a mixer. The use of the word biscuit in reference to cookies has led me to reflexively turn down far too many cookies. That something I’m working on.

Aside from culinary quibbles, I can’t buy a hardcopy of the Sunday New York Times in Ireland. There are no cornfields (I went to school in Iowa and have grown to love them, go figure). Dublin is more diverse than I expected, but Ireland remains unmistakably Irish, as its surnames, accents, and pale skin can attest. Irish politics is engaging, but decidedly more technocratic than politics in the United States, where ideological partisans holler and scramble as if every policy choice determined the fate of the nation.

To my surprise, at home I found myself complaining about what Brooklyn was missing. In New York, there is an acute shortage of electric kettles. I never thought I would stray from coffee as my beverage of choice, but since coming to Ireland I’ve learned that tea delivers a more-perfect balance of caffeination and hydration. Staring into the nostrils of a fellow commuter on a crowded MTA bus, I knew an upper deck would have delightfully relieved the congestion. In Brooklyn, I was more than a 30 minute train-ride from a town like Howth, where I (weather-permitting) hike the peninsula on sleepy weekends. In Dublin, there is a sense that one is never too far from the countryside. As close as the idyllic Hudson Valley is to New York City, it feels like it might as well be in China.

And in the short time I was away from home, a few things about it had changed. For one, men’s caps of the sort I imagine were ubiquitous in Ireland until a couple of decades ago were quite fashionable in New York this winter – so much so that you can find tweed hanging next to black on black Yankees caps on Canal Street. I think Franklin Roosevelt was President the last time those were popular in New York. And how fitting – for maybe it was just among the set I hang around with, but I noticed a deepened pessimism about the country and its future this winter, as if the realities of a grinding, bottomless job market were finally starting to dim my friends’ hopes. When first arriving in Ireland I was shocked at the grim outlook its people had for their nation’s economic future. The average person I talked with spoke fatalistically of the recession as if it was a just punishment for Ireland’s boom years. Ireland had gotten too big for its britches. Economic pain would last indefinitely. It was an outlook I thought particular to the Irish, a people understandably accustomed to suffering. But pessimism seems to have shaken even famously confident America. Some things aren’t so different.

Indeed, I think the experience of living abroad for the first time inclines one to notice and accentuate cultural differences rather than recognize commonality. Moreover, it can lead one to ignore complexity that defies facile definition. The reasons for that are understandable enough. But I fear indulging in too much of the sort of half-baked Tocquevillian observation above is a poor way to experience life in another country. Every interaction becomes fodder for generalizations about national character. Life is reduced to anecdotes. Thankfully, with time life in Ireland is growing comfortably, wonderfully, boring. With a few more months, I suspect I’ll hardly think of Ireland as a foreign country – as something other than home. Maybe then I can really get to the bottom of this place.

Posted in Class of 2010, University College Dublin | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on January 2010 Reflection

January 2010 Reflection

Posted on January 1, 2010 by scolvin10

The most difficult thing about music therapy is to know when to be silent. It seems paradoxical, but this therapy built around sound sometimes has its moments of greatest effect in its absence. Because being able to actively listen to a client is more important than playing for them. You must tune to the smallest movements and vocalizations that would otherwise be overlooked in general care, identifying ways to create complementary rhythms and melodic contours. The flexion of a single finger or the pace of a client’s breathing might be all you have to work with.

I had my first encounter with music therapy clients during a placement the last three weeks of the fall term, split between a special education school and an adult care facility. Let’s just say the experience has caused me to redefine what I had formally considered music. Coming from a “classical” instruction, music was carefully organized sound, ridden with motifs, forms, and structure. Music therapy is messy, unpredictable, and depending on the mood can take nearly any direction. It is almost as if each client has their own internal musical system, which you must reflect and develop. Sessions are full of surprises, both negative and positive, and you must be extremely flexible and adaptive. As someone who tends to over-plan, this has been the most liberating and simultaneously frustrating part of my experience. I have had to be reminded that some of the most memorable events will happen unpredictably and unexpectedly.

There are three happenstance meetings that have made a particular impression on me the last few months. The first was on a bus trip to Galway for a Chess Club tournament. I had been reading a book by Thomas Cahill titled “How the Irish Saved Civilization,” which told the story of Irish monks who furiously copied books while the rest of Europe was reeling in the throes of the Dark Ages. An elderly Irish woman noticed the cover and struck up a fascinating conversation with me about ancient Celtic culture to modern Gregorian chant in Limerick. Not long after, I was coming back from Dublin and met an organic vegetable farmer on the train. He gave me a ride back to the university from the station, recommending the best fish & chips outlets on the way (which cook with lard and not vegetable oil) and showed me the extent of the recent flooding. He has lived around Limerick his entire life and was passing on the farm to his son. Last week I was taking pictures of an impressive frost that had coated everything like powered sugar. A couple stopped to inquire why I was taking pictures of the grass, and we spent about twenty minutes discussing pictures of the beauty everyone else was passing by and discarding as bad weather. In each case, I was impressed by the ability of the Irish to just pause and enjoy life with a complete stranger, having deep meaningful conversations I won’t easily forget.

Why is it the most memorable experiences often consist of the simplest events or gestures? I recently read a poem from Seamus Heaney that I thought expressed this concept in my favorite terms—musical.

The Rain Stick

Upend the rain stick and what happens next

Is a music you never would have known

To listen for…

Who cares if all the music that transpires

Is the fall of grit or dry seeds through a cactus?

You are like a rich man entering heaven

Through the ear of a raindrop. Listen now again.

Alright, stop! Pause. Read the poem again, slowly. At this point I could break down “The Rain Stick” in terms of its meter, syntax, metaphor, and other poetical characteristics. But in doing so am I missing the enjoyment of just reading it and reflecting on what it is trying to say? This is an interesting conundrum also presented in music therapy. In an attempt to legitimize the profession within the broader medical community there is a focus on dissecting musical components, and micro-analyzing narrative case studies in order to pinpoint why music works the way it does. We can attempt to explain the neurological, emotional, and physiological effects, but at a certain point do we kill the music from such intense anatomizing? Is it less beautiful if the mystery is stripped away?

Soon I will conduct my own research in this field, but for now I am enjoying spending time with the Mitchells. My first Christmas away from home was spent in Galway with Michael, Lauren and her husband Jon. Although it rained on Christmas Day (typical), we had beautiful frost on Christmas Eve. We managed an excellent Christmas feast considering the kitchen size, and made sugar cookies with crushed candy canes from the States. Either Ireland doesn’t sell candy canes or they were completely sold out! It’s a mystery. Though a little homesick, the Christmas break was extremely refreshing and I’m anxious to start a new semester with new adventures. I wonder what opportunities will be presented, provided I pause to hear them.

“The music is all around us, all you have to do is listen.” — August Rush

Posted in Class of 2010, University of Limerick | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on January 2010 Reflection

January 2010 Reflection

Posted on January 1, 2010 by nferron10

Winter has been upon us. You can see it on the landscape as much as on a person. We’ve drawn into ourselves, dropped our heads to the ground to keep the wind from hitting our faces, buried our hands in pockets.

Winter, certainly, has been upon me. I say “has been” somewhat tentatively, because I look out my window and watch hailstones fall onto the streets of Dublin from a sky that was blue only minutes ago. And these contrasting sights seem appropriate to me. Pedestrians, caught unaware, hold newspapers above their heads. The seagulls take shelter on top of the Bank of Ireland building. But that blue sky was there. Transitions are occurring. Seasonally, we’re past the solstice, and daylight is growing. Academically, a new term is beginning. And for these small transitions, I am thankful.

This year, Trinity switched from 10-week terms to 12-week, and this past December, by the end of week 10, the entire campus felt ragged. No longer did the Wednesday night partykids stumble past my window at 3am, shrieking Lady GaGa lyrics. The library security guards didn’t seem to take the same pleasure in violently ringing their large brass bells to signal closing time.

This exhaustion was most apparent in the Theatre Department. As my classmates and I neared Week 12, it felt like we were slowly becoming beasts of burden, slouching from the library to the lecture hall, grumbling about Lacan’s mirror stage, verfremdungseffekt, and whether we cared if the Gulf War was “real” or not (see Jean Baudrillard). During the first months, we hurled ourselves at these oftentimes arrogant, sometimes ridiculous, giants of modern thought. Now we felt chained to them. We sucked down cups of black tea without delight.

When we were finally liberated, the goodbye hugs were half-hearted, we just wanted to get home and get away from art theory. When I landed back in Seattle and found myself surrounded by my old friends, fresh-roasted coffees, and local beers, I had some time to reflect on the wintering process I had experienced. Typically I feel above the seasons, not that Seattle, like Dublin, has any seasons besides Gray and Not Gray. Typically I feel like I am creature of rationality and the natural world is little more than a changing wallpaper. But this year, winter snuck up on me and took its toll. As the light disappeared earlier each day, I pulled away from the city around me. And as I pulled away, I felt like I had less life.

Holiday parties were a red flag that something was out of sync. At every gathering, I would inevitably face the Ireland questions:

“How is Ireland?”

“You must love Ireland!”

“Isn’t Ireland the best?”

Very quickly, I settled into an answer that I thought was both honest and evasive. “I love my program, but it’s sucking the life out of me.” Which was true in some senses but avoided the real answer, which would have been: “Ireland is lovely, but I’m not letting myself live it.”

This is not to say that I’ve led an ascetic life in Dublin. I’ve been traveling about the country visiting the other Mitchells in Belfast, Cork, and Galway. When my girlfriend came out to visit, we had an amazing time on Inishmore, meeting locals, eating apple tarts inside peat-heated cottages, listening to trad music in neighborhood pubs. But after giving my Holiday Party response enough times, it occurred to me that when I returned to Dublin, I need to drop my uber-studious habits and live my life.

And now that I’m back, I’ve started shaking the winter off my body–cooking for classmates, dropping in on my favorite bookstore every day just to browse. They sound so simple as to be negligible, but these small practices add up to an entirely different life in Dublin. And while I consider myself a pretty firm agnostic, the most intimate habit I’ve formed has been attending morning mass.

Each day I wake at 6:45. The city is still dark. The shops are closed, and the supply trucks are unloading their crates. As I head up Grafton Street, I pass by silent streams of people shuffling up and down the streets, getting themselves to work as quickly as they can. I need to get to St. Teresa’s before mass starts, but I love this twilight world. Visually, it looks no different than Dublin at midnight. But all around, the world is waking itself, giving life to the new day. I love this time because it is an external manifestation of how I feel at that moment, rousing myself from a long winter, investing myself in small signs of new life.

Being back home–cooking meals for my family, going out with friends–reminded me that everything flows from a sense of investment in the world. Honest art is the product of life experience, just as an honest life is the product of life experience. And if I spend my days holed up in the library, I’m essentially cutting myself off from creating any worthwhile piece of art influenced by Dublin because I’m cutting myself off from living in the city, absorbing its moods, eccentricities, and countless human dramas.

The simple practice of attending daily mass inspired my first stab at a video essay, which can be found on youtube (just search “Neil Ferron” or follow the link to part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmJfEeN3d1U and part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9IobeB-TkY). Translating my morning experience into a visual story brought me to examine my city in a new way–I was now standing around on street corners at 7am and 2am, just to observe and engage. I was watching seagulls circle overhead, waiting for the sun to brighten the sky to a lighter shade of gray. As I used the project to connect my personal experiences to Dublin, I felt like tiny buds were blooming. Winter had been upon me, but now, tiny transformations are occurring. The world might look like midnight, but all around, there are signs of life.

Posted in Class of 2010, Trinity College Dublin | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on January 2010 Reflection

January 2010 Reflection

Posted on January 1, 2010 by cfaust10

After becoming accustomed to lush green grass laying beneath bare trees in the winter, it was a surprise to experience snow in Ireland. Not once, but twice, in both parts of the island.

The winter weather I returned to on the eastern coast of Ireland after Christmas reminded me of the 6-inch “blizzard” that shutdown my hometown in March. Most of the native Southerners didn’t leave their homes for days. One of my roommates called me at the beginning of the snowstorm because there an inch had accumulated on the ground and she didn’t think she could make it home. She was in our neighborhood. Needless to say, Irish are much like Southerners when it comes to snow; we’re never prepared and are completely unsure of what to do. A friend from South Dakota laughed when I sent him news reports of bus services shutting down in Dublin and surrounds after our 5 centimeters. However, without salt, grit, and plows, there isn’t much of a choice.

I disembarked the plane in Dublin after it took 90 minutes to unfreeze the jetway. Then I boarded a Dublin Bus to the city so that I could transfer and return home to Maynooth. The weather conditions resulted in constantly changing bus routes, but eventually I made it home. Sitting on a double decker bus as it climbed icy, snowy roads, sliding back and forth in the gentlest breeze of wind, is not an experience I’ll willingly repeat.

The silence that snow brings to a crisp morning is what I enjoy the most. For almost two weeks the temperatures didn’t rise above 0?C. During the mornings when snow still blanketed the ground, the normal sounds I hear while walking through Maynooth’s gardens were muffled and replaced with laughter of children and the occasional confused bird. It created a serene atmosphere that put me in a good mood despite my looming finals.

I was overjoyed to see a massive snowball fight being started in the quad outside St. Patrick’s College. Further inspection brought a bigger smile to my face, as the participants were all priests. Snowmen were everywhere, one whole family of them cropped up overnight on the rugby pitch outside my window. I was also amused to see our town’s street sweeper employed to “sweep” snow of the street. It was quite effective in clogging all the drains and creating icy hills on top of sidewalks.

The snow has now melted, and it’s so warm that birds are singing like it is springtime. I have traveled to places that have unpredictable weather, but it’s more pronounced in Ireland. I don’t ever check the weather anymore, it’s not very reliable or it tells you something that you already knew, like that there’s a chance of rain today.

As the semester came to a close and the days got shorter and shorter, there was much merriment and reasons to celebrate on the Island. Most of the Mitchells met up for a potluck Thanksgiving dinner, complete with delicious sweet potato casserole, yummy cucumbers, and molten chocolate cupcakes. I was very grateful for all the opportunities of the past year, the exciting adventures to come, and most importantly, my new Mitchell family that I could celebrate the holiday with.

Christmas celebration and decorations were in full swing mid- November, but the intensity ramped up in December. Santa hats and elf costumes were not an unusual sight around campus. We tried to focus on studies, but because NUI Maynooth doesn’t hold them until January, it was easy to rationalize a Christmas party here and there. After discovering mince meat wasn’t actually made of cows and it wouldn’t violate my (not-so-strict) vegetarianism, I indulged in a few. Mince Pies and mulled wine are the definition of Christmas in Ireland, and I was able to bring a little slice of the Island back to the States for my family and friends.

Much of the past two months has been spent devoted to my courses, but I’ve enjoyed study breaks in the form of friends, travel, and food. One of my friends is currently living and working in Belgium on a Fulbright Scholarship. She came to visit with two other Fulbrighters, one of whom is a James Joyce fan, so much of our sightseeing revolved around famous landmarks and settings from his books. It was wonderful to have a visitor to share experiences with, and I am looking forward to many more friends that will trek across the Atlantic to experience my take on Ireland (I’m still figuring it out, of course).

I also traveled to Belfast (again) right before I left, to see Belfast Blues and introduce one of my friend’s, a native of County Kildare, to Northern Ireland for the first time. Bre and I shopped and ate to our heart’s and stomach’s delight in Belfast’s Christmas market. Then the morning before I was to leave, I went downstairs to put the kettle on for some tea while I finished my Christmas letters. Much to my delight, the street outside was covered in a blanket of white and the streets were empty. We enjoyed the winter weather by making snow angels in the National Garden and sharing drinks at Belfast Castle overlooking the city.

With a third of the year over, it makes me want to slow the world down so I can savor the experiences and people in Ireland. It’ll be over before I realize; I’m sure of it. Sometimes it still feels like I have an American flag tattooed across my forehead, but my conversations with friends no longer revolve around comparing the U.S. to Ireland. Perhaps by next report I’ll have all the words to “Waxies Dargle” memorized and lecturers won’t constantly identify me as the non-Irish. One can hope.

Posted in Class of 2010, National University of Ireland Galway | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on January 2010 Reflection

January 2010 Reflection

Posted on January 1, 2010 by remanuel10

We crested the hill and suddenly, below us, was the valley. I twirled. It felt like we were lord and lady of a hidden holding, a place where we could take the hounds out hunting of a weekend afternoon, the heather beside Nate tinged orange with the on coming sunset. Nate was in a cap and a brown cord coat, and after jumping over the wood fence, he looked wind-touched and rustic. Me in my bright red wind breaker and pom-pom hat? Well, even flights of fancy have their spoilers.

I turned in a slow full 360. Below us was a valley rolling with heather and, across, a stand of barren trees hiding the twisting Lagan River. We had decided on walking, that Saturday, following the oral narrative of a friend –“cross the road? what road?” “do you think she meant to go straight here?” –and it felt all wrong—graffitti and a flooded underpass, until we had come out on a little green siding to the river, and from then on all sound stopped.

The green siding grew into a full marsh under-brush and along the river ducks appeared and overhead, calling geese. The river curved, and the path along with it, until we no longer knew where we were headed. At one point, feeling, bouyant, we spotted a side path, and decided to follow it up a narrow lane to a hill, daring the sun above to go down before we found our way back to the town. It was that little path that showed us the fence with the wooden cow-crossing, and that little opening, once jumped over, which led us to the hills.

Somehow everytime I come to the hills—and now I come to them every Saturday—they still look to me the way that looked that day. Green, and vibrant, and almost magical. A hidden secret.

Every Saturday I have returned to that hill top. Nate returned to India, so I must be lady of my own domain, but each week a new surprise is waiting for me. The second week, walking along the Lagan river, I spotted adolescent ducklings, brown-black puff balls on the river. They would sit there, a little pom-pom a top the tides, and then dive under. I would hold my breath. One minute, two, three, and then, hard to spot, across the river a little head would pop up, a sleek body, dripping wet, wet to the bone, and then a little shake, and poof: the little guy would be all dry fluff again.

And the next week, a blue heron: motionless on the bank, staring at me, me staring at him. Silence.

And then, as I crested the hill there I was, suddenly, amidst a herd of cows. Resplendent in their big calmness. Black and sleek. As I walked down among them they stopped chewing, stood still. When I passed a little calf lowed. And somehow, the sun never did set before I returned to town.

Posted in Class of 2010, National University of Ireland Galway, Queen's University Belfast | Tagged , , , , , , | Comments Off on January 2010 Reflection

January 2010 Reflection

Posted on January 1, 2010 by lpmarino10

I expected that making friends … real friends … in Ireland would take time. That it would be a delicate process, and subject to awkward exchanges and uncertain social cues. During my first few weeks in Galway, I fearfully imagined leaving Ireland feeling like I had made no real friends whatsoever. The strange events of a single day have led me to believe, though, that those fears were completely foolish.

This is the story of how what should have been my worst day in Ireland turned out to be one of the best.

It was 1 pm on Saturday, January 16. I was sitting in my pajamas (I know, 1 pm and still in my pajamas?!), hoping to gain some inspiration for this Mitchell reflection by reading some of the past scholars’ writing, when a knock came at the door. I sheepishly shuffled over to answer the door. Two of my Irish classmates, Avril and Laura, were waiting outside. They both looked alarmed.

Immediately, Avril asked, “Are you ok?”

Ok? Why would she ask that? I thought. Sure, Jon was back in the US, leaving me all by myself and a little lonely, but hopefully I didn’t give off such a fragile flower vibe. “Of course I’m ok. Why?” We moved inside to the living room and sat down.

Avril explained. She had received 6 blank text messages from me throughout the morning. When she called me back to see if something was wrong, an unfamiliar, incoherent man’s voice picked up the phone. Avril panicked. A million terrible thoughts went through her head. She called up Laura and they marched over to my place, half expecting to find me held hostage. During the walk over, they (seriously) devised a number of attack plans for my rescue.

Tickled that they took my personal safety so seriously, I went about the business of figuring out what I had done with my phone. The last time I had seen it was the night before as Michael and I headed to the corner Spar to pick up the ingredients for chocolate soufflés. I thought it was in my purse… but then where did I put my purse? I searched the house. It was in none of its usual spots. The notion that my entire purse was not lost but…stolen…started creeping into my consciousness. I logged onto my credit card account online and sure enough, found a brand new $86 charge to Vodaphone that I did not make.

Throughout the next couple hours, Laura, Avril and I became the best Private Investigators we could. We swapped theories, brainstormed methods of tracking “our man” down, and watched a couple of youtube videos for a laugh when we got sick of the serious stuff. Laura made grilled cheese sandwiches, Avril put the kettle on for tea, and I Skyped banks and credit card companies. We finally came to the conclusion that the thief snatched my bag from my unlocked apartment’s entryway while Michael and I were focused on the soufflé baking in the room next door. Despite my frequent reminders that they did not have to stay with me, Laura and Avril didn’t leave. Instead, they kept me company all day long.

After we had visited the Garda station a couple of times, searched through the foliage in front of my apartment, and eaten some cookies, we called off the investigation for the evening. Avril invited us to walk along the Promenade towards Salthill, a ritual that she performs every single day. Laura and I agreed, threw on a couple of extra layers, and we were off.

As we reached the bay, the salt in the air was thick. The tide was in, and the waves were crashing against the rocks menacingly. The wind picked up, and suddenly we were in the middle of what felt like a hurricane. Laura and I struggled against the wind, and tiny, cold pellets of rain assaulted us from the sky. Avril pushed forward. “THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE ALIVE!” She shouted, skipping onward. Laura and I, half laughing and half terrified that we were about to be swallowed by the sea, followed along until we noticed a sprightly old woman coming straight for us.

“Grab on to me, girls!” She cried. “I’m going to be blown into the sea!” Laura grabbed the small woman (“She must’ve weighed 4 stone!” Laura later remarked) by the arm, and the four of us turned around and walked back towards town. After the wind died down, our older friend insisted we let her continue on her own. Laura and Avril then realized that they had “rescued” not one, but two people in one day. Not bad for a random Saturday in January.

While Laura and Avril certainly rescued me that day, they weren’t the only ones worried about my wellbeing. After the walk through the hurricane, I was home drying off and foraging for dinner, when there was another knock at my door. Jada, another classmate, a peppy, talkative American, was standing outside. “How are you doing!? What happened? Are you ok?” Jada bounced into the apartment. I told her my ordeal, she sympathized, and we moved on to a more important topic: her date with a very eligible Irish lad.

Some time later, after Jada had left, another knock on my door. It was Michael, who had given up a fun night out with his class to come to provide me with a little extra security. He threw down his overnight bag in the guest bedroom and joined me in the living room.

It was at about this moment that I realized: I have somehow managed to acquire this incredible support network. In a new city, a new country. In a matter of months. Irish friends, American friends, and of course, my reliable Mitchell crew. All ready to lend me money until my new laser card arrives, sit with me while I deal with banks over a lousy Skype connection, and just spend time with me so the house feels less empty. Avril and Laura were ready to literally save me from an evil kidnapper if they needed to. (I found out later that Avril had quickly devoured a bowl of cereal just before leaving her house to rescue me. Just in case she was going to be in a hostage situation without food for a long time. You know.)

And that’s just the kind of realization that can turn a bad day into a brilliant one.

Posted in Class of 2010, National University of Ireland Galway | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on January 2010 Reflection

November 2009 Reflection

Posted on November 1, 2009 by nferron10

I live on the ground floor of Trinity’s Front Gate, which means that I am not secluded behind the white stone walls, nor am I outside in the mess of buses and tourists on College Street, I am in between these spaces, living, literally, in the wall. (Whenever a passerby sees me sitting on my windowsill, a confused and somewhat unsettled look crosses her face as she attempts to reconcile the grandeur of a national monument with the sight of a young man reading Beckett in a bathrobe.) While this intermediary space is a bit noisy at times, it’s become an appropriate image for what I see going on around and inside me.

From a theatrical standpoint, arriving in Dublin this September was an opportune time to witness the community in a state of flux. Arguably the turbulence began months earlier when the recession started taking its toll on the arts sector–the Arts Council cut funding from four mid-sized theatre companies (each having around twenty years under their belts), the Fringe Festival turned to Absolut Vodka to sponsor its events (tagline: Absolut Fringe), and the Abbey announced it must cut 26 of its 113 full-time positions. The money crunch has sparked a debate over what kind of theatre should be funded and what the face of “New Irish Theatre” will be. From my limited point of view, two prominent camps have emerged: the New Kids and the Established Companies. The New Kids would likely claim that the Established Companies are predictable, relish in their own cliches, and have the sex appeal of tweed thong:

(Two old men sit in a cottage. It is raining.)

Patrick, your father was a good man.

Aye, he loved his field.

Aye, but he beat your mother.

Aye, but he loved that field.

The Established Companies would most likely say that the New Kids are flashy but essentially vapid:

(Two skinny hipsters dance to youtube clips while spreading paint on the floor. Later, they make out.)

I find this scenario to be exciting because as the theatre community heads deeper into the recession, there is no option but to keep making work, which means that eventually the Established Companies will stage something more experimental and the New Kids might explore something more traditional. The walls in this scenario are always shifting. (For those who read Calvin and Hobbes, the rules of theatre are the same as Calvinball: the only permanent rule is that you can’t play it the same way twice.)
Which brings me to the topic of my studies.

Studying theatre theory, as opposed to studying theatre history or actually creating theatre, is a bit like taking a field trip to the zoo only to spend all day listening to a zookeeper tell you what Orangutan books she’s been reading, why she prefers those Orangutan books over the others, and why you should never waste your time with Bonobos. I realize this is an unfair statement in several ways. One: it might seem to indicate that I disagree with the nature of my program (which is not true) and that studying theatre theory is not what I want to be doing (it is). Two: I don’t think I should equate academics to zookeepers so much as Jane Goodalls, crouching in the foliage, furiously scribbling notes as their subjects mate, fight, and fling their feces about (not far from the truth in some cases, google “Wim Delvoye’s Cloaca”), intentionally keeping themselves as removed from the mess as possible. This analogy is also unfair because there are plenty of hybrid academics/art-makers in existence, 2005 Mitchell scholar Nick Johnson to name one. The point is: personally, I have found it tricky to balance my identity as an apprentice-academic and an apprentice-theatre artist.

But “tricky” is the wrong word. It’s damn frustrating. While I feel enriched by the theory, I find that after I’ve spent all day in the library trying to express how semiotics, despite its biases, does acknowledge the phenomenological happenings of a stage production, I feel it’s harder for me to sit down and create honest work that deals with my own tiny fears and trivial joys. In addition to being steeped in this world of theory, I’ve recently realized how hard it is to be away from my base of social and artistic support in Seattle. No longer can I grab a coffee at Victrola, work on a new play while watching the baristas flirt with the bike messengers, and then spend the evening drinking cheap beer with people I love. I’ve finally admitted to myself, that in Dublin I am in a state of flux. I am not in my boisterous world outside the academic wall, nor am I completely hidden behind it–I am living in the wall. And while it’s not as easy as I’d imagine, I know this intermediary place is leading me to growth.

Miscellaneous:

Last night I went to mass at Whitefriar Street Carmelite Church. During the Prayers of the Faithful, the priest said a special prayer for the souls of the departed parishioners. “All those people who used to be sitting right where you’re sitting just now,” he said, waving his hands over the pews. He continued: “And don’t worry. Your number will be coming up too.”

I have three roommates. Two of them are named Stephen and are both pursuing PhD’s in physics. Every morning they trade off who wakes up first to make tea. Since they have the same name, I wake up to the same thing every day: a brief knocking, then a groggy voice: “Stephen. Tea.” (My third roommate is named Oisin. He eats a health-conscious brand of cereal called “Especially You.”)

Posted in Class of 2010 | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on November 2009 Reflection

November 2009 Reflection

Posted on November 1, 2009 by scolvin10

Island of Enchantment, Celtic Paradise, Emerald Isle—Stab City? Limerick, Ireland, has had this stigmatism stamped upon its streets since the 1980’s when 75 percent of homicides were committed with a knife. Though I have yet to confirm the reports, some sources I have found say the number dropped to 50 percent around the turn of the millennium. Being raised in relatively rural Montana—where I worried more about mountain lions and getting mauled by a bear than being held at knifepoint—it wasn’t the most comforting thing to move to a city rumored to have the highest crime rates on the island. Reading “Angela’s Ashes” by the late Frank McCourt, though a fascinating book, did not help Limerick’s reputation. And if you are ever a visitor to the city, talking about “Angela’s Ashes” to a pureblood local is almost as unforgiving as debating “The DaVinci Code” in the Vatican. Now that I have lived here almost three months, it has been interesting to see many preconceptions melt away, and begin to understand some of the history behind current conflicts in the area. This reflection therefore, addresses preconceptions and expectations of what life in Ireland would be like. To everyone that has been duped to believe Limerick is the joke of the island, take a brief look at the actual crime rates per capita sometime. I believe Dublin is in for a surprise.

The expectations about Ireland’s beauty, have been well justified. Walks into the countryside have given me a love for the smell of peat fires, the patchwork asphalt quilts, and the ubiquitous blackberry bushes. Here, roads still move with the land instead of across it, although it wouldn’t hurt to widen a few of them. The Shannon River rolls with such power and solemnity, dotted with swans and castle ruins up and down the riverbank. Limerick has, I believe, the only major campus outside of the city. Its large green spaces adjacent to the river are just the thing for a country boy.

After overcoming the typical adjustments of living in a foreign country—power adaptors, currency, opposite sides of the road—I found myself surprised at the smallest things. For example, instead of listing the date as MM/DD/YYYY, everything is in DD/MM/YYYY. I didn’t have this “sorted” until several library books were overdue by a month. Buildings are rarely numbered. They are just on a particular street and hopefully you choose the correct direction. It is not uncommon to have a 21st century apartment building or car park adjacent to a 600-year-old church. The oldest artifacts by Montanan standards (save dinosaur bones), would still be in the cradle by a European timeline.

Do the Irish drink? One of the best-known rhetorical questions has been reconfirmed. My favorite example comes from my training for a marathon in Athens. Along my regular route I had seen a group of guys four or five consecutive workouts gathering at a particular river bench. From what I overheard, it was a regular social session to catch up on the news, politics, sports, and to vent the frustrations caused by the opposite gender. As I became a usual part of the evening as “the guy who runs by,” they invited me over to refresh myself. Alcohol not being the best thing to consume while exercising, I politely declined, but afterward they would toast as I ran by and cheer me on. The act of drinking itself is not important, but rather the social glue it provides to nearly every facet of Irish culture. Witnessing the national excitement for the 250th anniversary of Guinness was just a taste of this.

One of the most frustrating and simultaneously alluring qualities of Irish culture is the difficulty of planning in advance. “Irish Time” isn’t a myth, and it has been a challenge to figure out when punctual means responsible and when it flags my ignorance of social behavior. I didn’t know what my courses were until a week before they started, but I have been given a wonderful flexibility to explore my own areas of interest in Music Therapy. The Irish are less preoccupied with the plan and doing events and more focused on relationships and experiencing events. They live life as it comes.

I often wondered what my life would have been like if I had “stuck to the plan.” By now, I would be an architect in Montana if I hadn’t changed my major two weeks into undergrad. I wouldn’t be doing a Masters in Music Therapy and working with clients who communicate through spelling words on a touchscreen with their nose, or try to teach me sign language to indicate musical preference. I would have never kissed the Blarney Stone, run the original course of the marathon in Greece, met with countless people of influence in Irish and global events, and enjoyed the company of the wonderful Mitchell Scholars who share a similar passion to, as Gandhi said, “be the change [they] want to see in the world.” Perhaps this year I will finally come to acknowledge the simple truth that life is unpredictable, and be open to opportunity. What will the future bring? To be continued…

Posted in Class of 2010, University of Limerick | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on November 2009 Reflection

November 2009 Reflection

Posted on November 1, 2009 by sshah10

The first evening I visited Dublin, I went to a small local pub and asked for a pint of Guinness. Having never asked for one before, I foolishly took the pint away before the requisite second pour. When I sat down with my drink the bartender came to my table and abruptly took the glass away from me. He took it back to the bar, topped it up, and gave it back to me. I was embarrassed having committed a seeming faux pas but also struck by admiration. This guy was determined not to let me leave with a bad pint of Guinness. I had found throughout the rest of my trip that there were many people in Ireland who were just as committed to their work, and it felt like such a passion for the land of Ireland was pervasive among everyone.

When I returned to Dublin this last September I knew of a few things to expect. The weather would be cold, wet, and windy, the landscape would be green and gorgeous, and that when offered a biscuit I would be asked to “go on, go on, go on” (admittedly many of my expectations came from watching Father Ted). Most of all, I expected to find the same sort of motivated and passionate people I had met during my last visit.

While my expectations haven’t failed me, what I didn’t expect is that very few things can be expected. For instance, I have had a running feud with the weather. It has often left me soaking wet and has eaten one of my umbrellas. I would at first plan to run in Phoenix Park while the weather was still sunny but by the time I’d get there the weather had taken a turn for the apocalyptic. Since being here I’ve come to terms with never being able to predict what can happen next and what things I will do and become interested in.

I have, in particular, become interested in Irish traditional music, theatre, and the Irish language. I’ve purchased a tin whistle with the hope that by the end of my time here I will be able to busk for a day on Grafton street playing jigs. I’ve also had a fantastic time seeing many interesting plays and other performance pieces which I’ve never had the opportunity to do before. I’ve become more appreciative of the ways in which my interest in science situates itself withing the context of the humanities and how the ways of thinking encouraged by the arts can aid science. Since Ireland is a small country it seems that making these connections and learning from other people of various disciplines is easier, and that many other people here share an enthusiasm for learning from and teaching others.

The most important aspect of my time in Ireland is without a doubt the time I have spent enjoying the beauty of the landscape. I’ve visited rural County Kerry and while there I toured the Ring of Kerry, visited the Gaeltachta of the Dingle Peninsula, and have biked around Killarney National Park. When I say that people are deeply passionate about the land of Ireland, I think that the beauty of the land and what it inspires in both the arts and the sciences is a critical part of that passion. I don’t yet know enough about Ireland to say that’s true for everyone, but I certainly know that in my short time here I’ve become even more motivated and inspired.

Posted in Class of 2010, Trinity College Dublin | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on November 2009 Reflection

November 2009 Reflection

Posted on November 1, 2009 by cfaust10

Green has been my favorite since I first learned the difference between colors. Most of my wardrobe is green, my main form of transport in the States is a green road bike, and even the background for my email is green. I was fairly certain that the percentage of green in my life was correlated to my happiness, and my experiences thus far in Ireland have provided strong anecdotal evidence towards the theory.

I find myself surrounded by a beautiful emerald landscape in a small town just west of Dublin, and I can’t seem to wipe a smile off my face. NUI Maynooth overlaps with St. Patrick’s College, Ireland’s National Seminary. The College’s buildings designed by Augustus Pugin in the 1800s are magnificent, but the grounds surrounding the magnificent steeple are my true love though. I’ve picked up running again, something that extracurriculars and sports injuries didn’t make too easy for me at college, and it’s wonderful to run through gardens and apple orchards, past rugby pitches and cow pastures, and admire the beautiful green carpeting the ground and scaling the trunks and flourishing on branches of ancient trees.

It may be ironic to some that I’m studying a huge issue, Global Health (and Immunology), from a small village (population 10,000- not the smallest town I’ve ever lived in though). However, I’d argue that it is helping give me a very practical perspective on how solutions need to be organized. Plus, it’s a very charming place that cultivates a good conversations and personal reflection.

I’m interested in working on wildlife conservation issues relating to wildlife and human health. Many of the points of contact between wildlife, humans, and disease originate in small communities scattered throughout the globe, though especially in the tropics. Even though the temperature is far from equatorial, Maynooth is a small community in a rural setting that has many of the same needs and functions of a small village in Borneo. In addition to the coursework and interactions with professors, living in here has been a huge asset to my learning process.

I don’t spend all of my time in Maynooth; I’ve spent every weekend since I arrived 8 weeks ago travelling. It’s a good thing I absolutely love public transportation. Sometimes I can get a lot of reading for class out of the way, but my favorite times are when I get to spend the 4 hours chatting with a stranger about everything from orphanages in Belarus to the upcoming cinematic releases.

The rest of the Mitchell Scholars are scattered around the island and they’ve been incredibly accommodating. The Mitchells at Queens University hosted us for an amazing play and tour around Belfast. Jon coaxed us to Cork for the Jazz Festival and we had the opportunity to meet some incredible leaders in the city. For Halloween, we all dressed as Greek Gods and Goddesses and celebrated the holiday with parades and fireworks in Derry. I still have Galway and Limerick to look forward to with the Scholars, and there is so much more outside the major cities. I know I’ll never see and experience everything Ireland has to offer, but I will try.

Festivals are quite popular in Ireland, and have provided a wonderful excuse to see the diversity on the island. Just last weekend, Jon and I went to Ennis for their semi annual Trad Festival. We relaxed in the small town atmosphere (though it’s much bigger than Maynooth) and indulged in some incredible Trad music. Bluegrass is a popular style in my hometown in Georgia, it’s actually derived from Trad, so it was a wonderful reminder of the connectedness of the US and Ireland.

I have many plans for the upcoming year. An Irish friend and I have started a garden in his backyard. It’s our attempt to make our Euros go a little further, reduce our carbon footprint, and spend more time together. I may also have suggested the idea to add more green to my world. I’m also incredibly grateful to have a substitute bike while in Ireland. I spent a long time searching for the perfect one and finally found it- a vintage Austrian road bike with the shifters on the frame. Although cobblestones and Kildare roads are not too gentle with its thin tires, I have become an expert at changing the tubing in the wheels. The freedom of my bike is wonderful, and it’s handy when I am trying to catch a train across town. The Mitchell class also has plans to circumvent Northern Ireland in the spring and I am also biking to Galway with some classmates for charity next semester. Although RyanAir has very attractive prices on flights to other European destinations, I think most of my time will be spent exploring Ireland (hopefully) by bike and hiking boots.

As cliché and redundant as it may be, the people in Ireland have been the most incredible part of my experience thus far. The other Mitchells are so wonderful; I don’t think I could ever fully describe my appreciation for their laughter, intelligence, and company. We have become so close so quickly and I’m looking forward to many more adventures in the coming year. I left the island for my first time this weekend to travel to Krakow, Poland with three other Mitchells. It was comforting to have them by my side as we walked through the remains of Auschwitz. Although the concentration camp was in operation over sixty ago, it served as an incredibly powerful reminder of genocide and discrimination that continues in our generation. Experiences such as this have pushed me outside of my comfort zone and I hope to have many more in the upcoming year.

The transplanted Americans aren’t the only people whose company I enjoy. My classmates and peers in Maynooth have been very welcoming and eager to engage in conversations. I traveled and lived in many places for months at a time when I was in college, but Ireland is the first place that I have felt included in my local community. I am eager to see what the next year will lead to, but I am also perfectly happy enjoying watching the setting sun cast shadows over the rugby pitches and cow pastures.

Posted in Class of 2010, National University of Ireland Maynooth | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on November 2009 Reflection

November 2009 Reflection

Posted on November 1, 2009 by bdetwiler10

You know you are acclimating to Belfast culture when you find yourself in Primark trying to decide which shade of “denim” leggings go best with your new plaid shirt. This is the beginning of a love affair. I often tell people my roots are in the mountains of Virginia and my soul is in the dust of Ghana, and now I think Belfast has stolen my heart. I love this city. I love turning a street corner at night and catching the lit profile of a spire. I am enamored with the scenic Lagan towpath for long runs and bike rides with its wild swans and meandering couples. I race to St. Georges Market on Saturdays, gorging myself on fajitas, milkshakes and all the fresh fruit I can carry home. Every Monday I am seated with a local brew at the John Hewitt, tapping my foot to every good (ex. my friend Ben) and bad (ex. the guy who screams a lot) open mic act. I could spend all afternoon sitting in the cool gray CS Lewis reading room overlooking the knobby tree that guards the entrance of the Botanic Gardens. And I could spend every evening studying at Clements at 10pm, with the brightly lit rainbow panels and blaring Canadian rock cheering me through my regression analysis. Have I sad enough? I love Belfast.

It is somewhat strange that I find myself loving this city so much when I often find myself feeling so uncomfortable in it. My program in Environmental Management is wonderful, but being the only American in a sustainable planning course discussing international environmental legislation is nothing if not awkward. Often I feel that I am expected to apologize for our current environmental policy or lack thereof, but examining EU policy has given me new perspective; I am finding myself defending my complicated federal system and the theory of private land ownership in the US, which is new for me.

My most obvious source of discomfort is my brownness. First, I should explain brownness. I say brown because as a multiracial child I feel awkward saying black or African American, that doesn’t adequately describe my heritage. I feel even stranger saying “mixed,” the preferred check box on employment forms, which makes me feel like a cocktail or something. So I go with brown, because I am. Being brown has never been particularly hard for me. In fact, through most of my childhood and adolescence I never really thought about it. I grew up in a loving home in a nurturing community that never evaluated me based on my skin tone. My skin color really only appeared on standardized tests and when I started buying foundation. I have always had mostly white friends and usually have difficulty identifying with aspects of young black culture. But in Belfast I am constantly reminded of my brownness. It’s subtle, like a look at a bar or an unnecessarily awkward exchange. Occasionally I get a strange comment, as in the case of one classmate who asked if I was “a gypsy.” I am by no means saying that people are rude, in fact, most people I interface with are perfectly lovely. I just feel a little culturally lost at times, and find that I am listening to more Jay-Z and Dead Prez than ever before.

There are some serious benefits to being brown in Belfast. Kebab. One night, upon my 2am entrance into our favorite late night kebab shop, the man behind the counter exclaimed I was brown like him, holding my arm to his. He has now proclaimed me his “Brown Queen,” a comment I am totally comfortable with as it usually accompanies a discount off my amazing kebab.

Despite the occasional discomforts, Belfast has been nothing but welcoming and each day I feel more and more at home here. I find myself returning from travel grateful to be in such a nice, familiar place. This is usually a feeling I reminded of every weekend with the massive amount of traveling I have been doing. Almost as soon as we arrived Adam, Rebekah and I ferried over to Scotland for a day of cliff hiking and castle exploration. This was followed by a very lovely Mitchell orientation in Dublin where the 12 of us were able to begin our mutual infatuation that has extended to a theatrical weekend in Belfast, a jazz festival in Cork, a spooky Halloween in Derry, and a massive amount of group e-mails filled with boy band videos and punching jokes. I’ve just returned from a chilly weekend in Poland where I ate a massive amount of perogies and potato cakes. In the coming weeks I’m off to London, Scotland (Again! I can’t get enough of it!) and then home for Christmas. My flatmates were shocked when I was seen walking about the house last weekend since I am rarely in town Friday through Sunday.

My mom and grandma say they are living through me this year as I travel and study abroad, something they have always wanted to do. I am happy to be their ambassador and I am so very grateful to everyone at the US Ireland Alliance for this amazing opportunity.

Posted in Class of 2010, Queen's University Belfast | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on November 2009 Reflection