Saying Goodbye, or, The Sappy Post

I didn’t want it to come to this, but here’s what it’s come to: my days here, while they have always been numbered, are drawing to a close. I fly out of Belfast on Friday. This morning I woke up to the familiar view of my ugly hotel curtains and closed wardrobe, and while it’s a boring view, I realized I would kind of miss it. I’ll miss the sounds I hear out my window: birds chirping, cars driving past occasionally, bits of conversation as students walk by. From my window, I have a beautiful view of the wind turbine on campus and the lovely green hills beyond campus. I’ll miss that view.

A sunset view from my window

I honestly didn’t think I’d have such mixed feelings about leaving. I’ve missed home, of course, and I’m excited to see everyone, but I am also not ready to leave. I thought that four months would seem like a long time, but it almost feels like it’s not long enough.

I’ve been trying to figure out exactly how time has passed here, discussing it with my various international friends. They agree with me that time has passed in a strange way. On one hand, it seems like a million years ago that we were sitting around in our temporary housing at Agherton Village, freezing cold and clueless about most everything from ordering Chinese food to going to the movie theater– excuse me, cinema. On the other hand, that feels like it was yesterday.

My lovely friends Abbi, Kathryne, and Mackenzie reading a map in Belfast– “We were such babies then!” says sentimental Kathryn.

Perhaps what’s made time pass oddly is that I feel like I’ve undergone a transformation here. I don’t want to say I’ve changed completely, but I do feel different. What’s happened is that I’ve become more myself, settling comfortably into even the parts of myself that I don’t like. I had to do it, because when I first got here, I was the only person I knew. I was hanging out with me a lot. For the first time, I really had to deal with myself apart from anything and anyone I’d ever known. It was scary, but it was also liberating. I was free of expectations and preconceived notions, and I could be myself in any way I chose.

It’s possible that a reason I haven’t been blogging much is because a lot of this experience, for me, has been internal. I work under the assumption that people want to read about the wonderful place that is Northern Ireland more than they want to hear about my feelings. And don’t worry, I’ll try to be brief about expressing them here. But everything I have experienced, I’ve evaluated through that lens.

Let me explain. I had a lot of anxieties about coming here, and this semester has been about slowly peeling away all of those worries and insecurities until I’m left with just myself. I hide behind fear like a mask a lot of the time, letting it cloud how others see me, hiding parts of myself I don’t want others to see. And even though I convince myself that it protects me from getting hurt, it just magnifies anything bad that does happen.

Being here alone meant that I had to take that mask off. I had to stop being afraid. And while I can’t say I was always successful, I can say that I believe I got better at it. As a result, I started to feel more confident and secure in myself– maybe more than I’ve ever felt before. I honestly believe this is the most important thing I’m going to take home with me. That, and a few more books than I had before (oops).

Now, here are some pretty pictures of what I’ve been doing in recent weeks:

Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, take two! This time, the weather was much nicer, the crossing was much smoother, and we got to go all the way to the top of the island to take pictures.

Saw some cows on the beach, no big deal

Lovely (but cold!) evening at the beach with friends. Yep, I’m wearing a towel as an extra layer. Sometimes you have to improvise!

Finally visited the Giant’s Causeway! And apparently became a giant.

I want to apologize for not keeping up with this blog so regularly over the course of the semester, but I also know that I apologize way too much. Instead, I’ll just say that another thing I’ve learned this semester is that I’m hopeless at blogging on any regular basis. Please know that I hope to continue blogging this summer and reflecting on my experience, so don’t give up on me just yet!

The entire time I’ve been here, I have been making lists.

A selection of these lists is now being made available for your viewing pleasure.

Things I Miss About the States (besides people! you are not things!):

1. FOOD. If you’ve talked to me at all since I’ve been here, you know about my misadventures in cooking for myself. For the first couple of weeks I was here, I ate a lot of toast. I’m talking toast for every meal, folks. To be fair, I started getting pretty creative with my toast. But it was still toast. There’s specific southern cuisine I miss, too, especially BISCUITS. I am forever having to explain biscuits. “It’s like a scone… but it’s not… and sometimes there’s sausage on it? But like a sausage patty. Or chicken. But you don’t have to put that on it… you can put jelly on it…” “Is that like jam?” “Oh, oh yeah, it’s like jam.” I faltered over explaining grits to people. They didn’t understand why I’d eat it. YOU JUST HAVE TO TRY THEM, OKAY. Finally, I haven’t really had very specific cravings, but the other day I knew I’d reached a low point when I was walking down the street and smelled fried chicken and I thought, “Oh, that smells good.” Then I realized what I was smelling was KFC. Gross.
2. DRIVING. Folks, I am that person who loves to drive. I find it soothing. I still feel like a big kid when I get in my car. I’m still surprised people let me go anywhere without adult supervision, much less operate heavy machinery. It’s very exciting. So I’m used to being able to hop in my car and go grab something from the store if I need it, and planning trips is much easier when you know you can drive somewhere. Obviously, though, I do not drive here. (Not only do they drive on the other side, most cars have a manual transmission… not happening.) Fortunately, I’ve found the public transportation system here pretty straightforward and reliable, but it doesn’t go everywhere or run all the time. Having to rely on a taxi to get somewhere is something I could definitely do without.
3. FREE LAUNDRY. Okay, I know it’s not “free,” PER SE, but I don’t have to pay £3 (2 to wash, 1 to dry) for every load of laundry I do at home or at Agnes Scott. It’s just a pain having to get change before I can do laundry. Also, £3 is actually a chunk of change for a load of laundry in my opinion.

Things I Don’t Miss About the States:

1. Driving in traffic
2. Georgia heat (muahahahaha, I am still wearing long sleeves, though it’s much warmer now than it was when I got here) (On a related note: everything being coated in pollen at the beginning of spring. So glad I missed that.)
3. MARTA– the public transit here is much better
4. The noise! (It’s very quiet in Coleraine most of the time. No train going by at all hours, at least not a loud one like at Agnes)

Things People Apparently Don’t Say Here (that I do):

1. “awesome” (I have realized I say awesome way too much. It’s awesome.)
2. “a bunch of stuff”
3. “dude,” “duuuuuuuuuude,” etc.
4. “Is that a thing? That’s a thing, right?”
5. “I feel like… [opinion]“
6. “y’all” (I was expecting this one though)

Grocery List from last week (copied word for word):

1. bread
2. pasta
3. cheese
4. some sort of vegetable idk???
5. you need to be healthier
6. nutella
7. those cracker things you got that one time

Things I Missed While I Was Gone Over Spring Break:

1. my bed
2. the view
3. really really nice people
4. tea everywhere
5. the music I hear everywhere and how it’s so varied
6. the word “wee,” which has not yet gotten old
7. my computer (don’t worry, baby, I’ll never leave you again)

Things I should do:

1. update my blog more

Surprise! I still exist in the world.

I get really frustrated with people who don’t update their blogs. I always think, “You made a commitment! Surely you are doing things that warrant you saying something about them! Why aren’t you blogging?!” 

You can imagine how I feel about myself right now. I think my frustrations show a clear misunderstanding of what blogging is and how it works differently for everyone. I’m learning as I go, reader. You’re witnessing the process. 

As for excuses, I can’t offer you any of those. I can offer you reasons for my absence, however. Frankly, it got pretty exhausting for me to try to recount everything I did in a blog post, and as they were rather extensive, they took some time. Take. Take some time. Because I am going to keep blogging about what I’ve been up to! Just give me some time to get sorted. Expect some posts in the near future about more of my Dublin shenanigans (from multiple trips!) and my spring break adventures on the continent and in England. 

In the meantime, here’s a list of things that make me happy: 

1. I got 2 Mars bars for the price of one from the finicky vending machine today. That almost makes up for the time it stole 60p from me. ALMOST. 
2. The weather has been absolutely gorgeous the last few weeks! Of course it’s still rained a bit, and it’s still rather cold, but the sun has shown its face a LOT more than it did when I first got here. Spring!
3. At the beginning of the semester, I was beginning to despair that we’d be reading works by white dudes for the duration of my modules. I’ve realized that all I really care about is the ladies. If I learn about something cool in history, and there aren’t any women mentioned, I wonder where they were. I am most intrigued by characterization of women in works of literature. I am that person who brings up gender in almost every class discussion. It goes on, but I’ll spare you. Just know that I checked out some books from the library this afternoon that make me really happy. 
4. Getting to see and talk to friends! One thing I loved about my travels was getting to see other Scotties; I traveled with my roommate Caitlin, we met up with Anna in Amsterdam, we stayed with Sally in Rennes and traveled with her to Paris, and we spent a few days with Uyen in London. I love the international community of Scotties! It’s also been great to see my friends here since being back; I really missed them over the break and I don’t really want to think about how much I’m going to miss seeing them when I leave. 
5. I’ll be done with finals by the second week of May, which means a lot of work between now and then, but also means I’ll have some time to travel before I leave! Yesssss.

This is my “I’m sorry I haven’t posted lately” post!

I have been quite busy with midterms and plagued with laziness. Forgive me– I’ll have a proper post soon! 

Here’s a touch of spring, in honor of this seriously gorgeous day… maybe the prettiest one I’ve experienced here so far! 

Dublin, as in a Dream.

There are a few things that have happened to me since I’ve been here that have seemed a bit like a dream.

Last weekend, I went to Dublin for a couple of days with my friends Kathryne and Abbi, and it was one of those experiences. I’ve found it difficult to write about, actually, because it didn’t quite feel real sometimes.

We got an early start on Friday morning, leaving the University at 7:30 a.m. I ran out of my house at the last possible minute, of course, grabbing an apple to eat for breakfast. We caught the 8:20 train to Belfast, where we arrived at about 10 a.m. We had a little while to wait until the next train to Dublin left from there, so we had some breakfast (er, second breakfast) and got some euros from the cash machine in the station before boarding our second train. It was so nice! I love a good train. The seats were comfortable and the windows were large, giving me a great view of the landscape as we made the 2 hour trip.

We arrived at Connolly Station at 12:45 p.m., and the first thing that caught my attention was that it was very bright outside and quite warm. Turns out we’d picked a beautiful weekend to visit; it was in the 50s and sunny.

Check out that sky!

The first thing we did after arriving in the city was look for our hostel, which we’d already booked online. We went to the place where we thought we would be, only to see that it was closed. A sign and a few helpful shop owners told us that we really needed to go to another hostel, right around the corner. I think they were run by the same people. Anyway, they were close to each other, so it wasn’t too bad. We stored our bags, grabbed a bite to eat at a restaurant called The Good Bits (which I found irresistibly hilarious), and set off for our first destination: Trinity College Dublin.

This was top on my list of things to see for a number of reasons. Look at all those little reasons.

We arrived at the College just before the last tour of the day, where we joined a student guide and an older couple on a tour of the campus. It was quite nice, getting to look around at such a cool historic place. Our tour guide, who was very funny in that dry sort of way many people I’ve met here seem to be, said he knew someone who used to live in Georgia. (Tidbit: nearly every single person I’ve talked to in Ireland, north and south, who knows someone in Georgia says they live in Savannah. If they’ve been to Georgia, they went to Savannah. Considering Savannah is super proud of its Irish heritage– they go nuts on St. Patrick’s Day, for example– this is interesting to me!)

So cool! Also, I have never seen so many bikes in my LIFE. They were EVERYWHERE.

We kept talking about how strange it must be to have tourists on your campus. Prospective students are one thing, but tourists? It must be… distracting. Then again, I’m sure they’re used to it.

The tour ended at the library, where we were able to see the Book of Kells and the Long Room. The Book of Kells was created in 800 by Celtic monks and contains the four gospels. What I found particularly interesting were the displays about how the book was made, its history, and other similar gospels and manuscripts. So cool, and each page took such painstaking work. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to take pictures there or in the Old Library, so all I have for you are images from google. But they’re probably better than the ones I’d have taken anyway.

I don’t think I need to tell you how much I loved getting to see the Long Room, though I was disappointed I couldn’t go roaming in all those books as it was naturally roped off. There were displays of old French books in the middle of the room, which was interesting and all, but all I really wanted to do was climb the ladders and touch the books. I actually got a weird look from the people who worked there because I was standing very close to the rope and trying to read some of the book titles. What can I say? I’m a rebel everywhere I go. It’s probably just as well I couldn’t get closer, though; I’d probably have drooled on them and that’s no good.

As close as I'm gonna get to taking a picture of the real thing.

After we left the college, we walked around a bit trying to find Dublin Castle. By the time we found it, it was a little after 5:00, so it was already closed. It was nice to look around, though. We headed back to the hostel, where we were able to get our room keys and settle in before we headed back out to meet Abbi’s friend from home, who was also visiting Dublin for the weekend. He said he would meet us at the “spike in town,” which, since we’d been on the other side of the river all day, we really hadn’t seen. Some googling informed us that this was the Spire of Dublin on O’Connell Street. By the time we got there, it was pretty obvious we were in the right place. It’s pretty hard to miss. We actually ended up eating Italian for dinner, which was delicious. Abbi’s friend is studying in England, so it was interesting to compare experiences!

It's also beautiful at night.

By the time we finished dinner, we were pretty tired so we headed back to the hostel to plan for the next day and get some rest. This is when my blog starts getting weird.

So picture this, if you will. I’ve been up and going for nearly 15 hours, waking up at stupid o’clock and spending a lot of the day trying not to fall asleep because why would I sleep on a train, trains are the coolest, then I arrive to a beautiful sunny day in Ireland. And it doesn’t end there. I walk through the coolest library ever, I eat Italian food in Ireland, and I lie down on what has got to be the most comfortable bed I have ever experienced in a hotel, hostel, or dorm room. I start thinking to myself, this has been such a weird day. I fall asleep quickly, which is uncommon for me.

This led to me waking up in the middle of the night to what must have been some sort of race going on in the hallway, judging by the volume of the cheers and the noise coming from the other side of the door. In my fuzzy, confused state, I thought, I am in Europe. 

That thought became, I AM IN EUROPE AND I HAVE BEEN HERE A MONTH AND I’M NOT EVEN EUROPEAN WHAT AM I DOING HERE WHY ARE THOSE PEOPLE SO LOUD maybe I should get up but OH MY GOD THIS DUVET IS AMAZING. WHAT IS IT MADE OF, HEAVEN? soooo waaaarm OKAY KATHRYN DON’T FREAK OUT BUT is that a person standing in the doorway?

Turns out our roommates for the night had arrived after we went to bed at the early hour of 11:00 p.m.

It was a weird night.

To be continued…

Transgressing, Imposing, and Generally Walking Where One Shouldn’t.

I’m fascinated by the idea of boundaries in a very general, abstract sense. I’m intrigued by the boundaries that culture arbitrarily sets up– between masculine and feminine, sacred and profane, public and private. I love when boundary crossings show up in literature and popular culture. Last semester, I wrote a paper about Marilynne Robinson’s wonderful and haunting novel Housekeeping, and the culmination of all these small border transgressions comes when the main characters cross a bridge meant for a train. I mean, how much better does it get? The paper practically wrote itself.

You might think this post is going to be a lot more brainy than it actually is. Really, I just want to talk about crossing a bridge.

I'm gonna physically and metaphorically cross this bridge all up in your internets

This one, to be exact. The Carrick-A-Rede rope bridge is about 17 miles from Coleraine, at the northern coast near the Giants’ Causeway. As most of us had school work to do this weekend, we decided to make a day trip to cross the bridge. The rope bridge itself is 30m (about 100 feet) above the water, spanning the distance from the mainland to a small, rocky island. It was strung across by salmon fishermen and is now a popular tourist attraction.

The day we decided to go was very pretty (as you can see) but VERY windy. I have never felt wind like this in my life. It physically moved me. And it was freezing. I do not say this lightly. It was freaking cold.

Fortunately, by the time we had walked the 1 km trail to the bridge itself, the wind had calmed somewhat. We had a relatively smooth crossing on the way over. The only way I can describe the sensation is, well, being on a boat. The bridge swung back and forth almost as if it were on water. I tried not to think about the fact that it most certainly wasn’t, that the water was 100 feet away, until I was safely across.

Here's the view we were rewarded with on the other side of the bridge.

At first, the feeling of the solid ground felt strange after swinging on the bridge, even though I wasn’t on it for long. After regaining my land legs, I walked up the path with my friends to the top of the island (or as high as we could go). The wind got worse the higher we got, so we came down quickly, but we managed to see this:

Yeah. YEAH.

By the time we came back down the hill, it had started to get dark and cloudy. Perhaps because it was so windy, the weather was starting to turn very quickly. I also do not say this lightly. This was a span of maybe 7 minutes.

*ominous music* *perhaps 'Jaws'*

We prepared to make our trek across the bridge again, and noticed that they were holding up people on the other side. I thought that this was our cue to cross. I began making my way across the bridge.

I almost immediately regretted this decision. The wind was picking up much more than I’d realized. Determinedly, I gripped on to both sides and moved until I had to stop.

Deep.

Breaths.

I was about halfway across when the man in the red National Trust jacket told everyone else to go back and came out to meet me halfway.

“Hi!” I called nervously. “It’s windy, isn’t it!” I get chatty when I’m nervous. (See also: The time I told the flight attendant on the plane to London, “Oh my God! They’re babies!” about the small soda cans he was giving out. He didn’t think this was as hilarious as I did.)

“Hold on to this side with both hands,” he told me, demonstrating by holding on to the right side firmly. I followed suit, repeating his words. I honestly couldn’t think about how high up I was, or where I was; all I could think about was holding that rope and breathing. We finished crossing that way. My feet touched the ground and I immediately started shaking.

I felt monumentally stupid. How could I have just begun crossing that bridge when it was obvious, in hindsight, that I shouldn’t have? Was it my bone-headed American-ness? Was it my independent streak? Was it the fact that I was chilled to the bone and too proud to admit I just wanted to get back to a warm building as soon as possible? I looked back and my friends were all standing on the other side. The bridge… looked pretty crazy at this point.

“We’re going to close the bridge for a few minutes,” the man said to the people waiting in line. He told me I’d done a good job, as did a woman waiting at the very front of the line.

“Thanks,” I said sheepishly, walking up the steps to wait for my friends. It appeared they weren’t going to let anyone else cross for a while. I waited a while in what was now a miserable drizzle before deciding to go ahead and walk back to the beginning of the trail, where there was a small gift shop/restaurant. The trek back was, if possible, worse than the trek there. The wind was unbelievable. I finally walked through the gate, where I almost immediately saw my roommate from home, Caitlin!

I couldn’t believe it. You don’t expect to see the one other Agnes Scott student in Northern Ireland  at the same place you are if you haven’t planned it, no matter how small the country is. We talked for a few minutes, and I met her friends from Queen’s, but they were heading for the trail and it was starting to rain… no… hail.

That’s right. It hailed. Being without much protective gear, I ran to the nearest building.

A few minutes later, my friends emerged from their trek, soaked and freezing. We stayed in the tea shop and warmed up before catching a ride back to the university.

This first transgression– crossing the bridge when I wasn’t supposed to– leads me to something that’s been on my mind a lot lately. I’ve spent quite a bit of time here being overly concerned with a) not offending anyone with my brash American-ness, and b) not doing anything stupid. I’m sure there have been plenty of instances where I’ve done both, but I’ve been going out of my way to avoid them. For instance, I’ve noticed how loudly I tend to speak, even though I generally consider myself a pretty quiet person, and have deliberately gone out of my way to speak more softly.

Of course, it’s never good to offend people. But crossing that bridge made me realize that sometimes, doing something stupid can both make for an exciting story and make you wiser for the next time.

A word to the wiser-than-me: if it’s windy and they aren’t letting people cross the bridge, don’t try it. Don’t assume anything. Just… don’t do it.

Then there was the literal crossing, of course. Both times I crossed the bridge, I wasn’t thinking about all the scary stuff around me. I was concentrating on one task: get to the other side. I apply this determination to a few things in my life: running, walking outside in the cold, getting from the warm bed to the shower very quickly, essays on tests, flying across the Atlantic, crossing a scary bridge. Get to the end. Don’t think about how many scary or seemingly impossible things you have to do on the way there. Just go.

It also isn’t until the end that I realize how much I actually had to do to get there. It seems like someone else did it. Was that me? Did I do that? How on earth did I do that?

I don’t know.

I just did.

Another instance of uncertain boundaries occurs, for me, when I’m approached with such kindness by people around here. This happens everywhere, of course, but I’ve noticed it more since being here. Two weeks ago, my friend Abbi and I visited a church in town called The Vineyard, where we met a nice woman who took us out to coffee after the service. I’m always touched by simple gestures like that, and I’m always surprised. Sometimes it verges on awkward, because I hate accepting things from people when I don’t feel as if I’ve earned them, but I’m slowly learning that it’s not imposing if someone wants to do something for you.

This afternoon, I was invited to accompany my friend to her “host” family’s house for lunch. She had registered early in the month with a program called International Friends, and was matched with an incredibly welcoming and sweet family with three young children. We went to their house and stayed for a couple of hours, playing Wii and having a delicious lunch beef stew with mashed potatoes, apple crumble and custard, and tea and biscuits. It was lovely.

I am always so concerned about visiting people’s houses, even in the U.S., because I hate imposing or intruding on people’s lives. But they were so genuinely hospitable and friendly that I didn’t want to refuse, and I didn’t feel like I had to.

In this case, I wasn’t pigheadedly crossing a bridge or talking loudly in public. I was interacting with people in their home. And still, somehow, I felt as if I was transgressing some sort of interpersonal boundary. In reality, I wasn’t; they had invited me, after all, and were incredibly generous to do so. It was really my hang-ups I was battling against here.

I suppose what all this comes down to is comfort. It takes me a while to feel comfortable anywhere, and until then, I have to tread carefully. Sometimes, I get impatient and begin traipsing around and trampling the metaphorical flowers in the garden. That’s when there are problems. That’s when I end up clinging to a rope on a bridge between two rocky islands.

But sometimes, getting out of your comfort zone gains you some sweet new friends or gives you a spectacular view.

Or both.

 

Interlude: Weird Internet Ads

As I’ve been a bit sick for the past couple of days, I haven’t done much except go to class and drink tea. I have, however, begun to notice ads strangely tailored to my geographical location. For instance:

Apparently, something about me makes the internet believe that I want to view men in Jordanstown. Not meet them, not talk to them, not even learn about them… view them.

I’ve got a few problems with this assumption:

1. I can view men… pretty much anywhere. Even Agnes Scott, believe it or not.
2. From what I’ve viewed so far, I don’t think I’ll like what you have to offer.
3. How do you know I want to view men? So specific. I’m disappointed. Didn’t have men on my list of “things to view,” really.
4. All the men you are offering up for viewing aren’t even AVAILABLE. I mean, one is idle. If I wanted to view that particular man, I couldn’t, because he’s idle. That’s what I call false advertising.
5. I took the trouble to google how far it is to Jordanstown:

We’re practically neighbors!

 In conclusion, I find the fact that the internet knows where I am kind of creepy sometimes. This is not one of those times.

Recording versus Experiencing, or, Passing Up Creepy Photo Opportunities

Each of my blog titles is getting longer. By the time I leave, they’ll be longer than the entries. I just want you all to prepare yourselves.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how to describe this place to you. I still haven’t completely decided, but I have realized that it’s difficult to decide what to tell people and how to tell it.

My American friends and I took a day trip to Belfast this Saturday. Despite the fact that I had to get up at 7:45 in the morning (also known as stupid o’clock), it was worth it. I never pass up an opportunity to travel by train. (Anyone who’s talked to me in the past two months knows that I have been revisiting my train obsession since I wrote a paper centered around a train in a novel last semester.)

It's like a plane. On the ground. And awesome.

Riding the train was a cool experience because I got to see the countryside turn into the city as we got closer to Belfast. I also got to people watch, which is one of my favorite things to do. I saw an older gentleman get on the train with his newspaper, whose headline read BRITAIN TO RECEIVE 6 INCHES OF SNOW THIS WEEKEND or something similar. One girl answered her phone about halfway through the hour-and-a-half journey and talked the rest of the way there.

We arrived in Belfast at about 10 a.m. and immediately headed for the city centre, where we were greeted by this:

City Hall, Belfast

Unfortunately, since it was a Saturday, City Hall was closed, and there were no tours until the afternoon. As Abbi and Kathryne checked the map, I took the opportunity to snap some pictures. Despite my distaste for looking like a tourist, I felt the need to capture it.

I was truly enchanted by the place.

We decided to make our way to the Ulster Museum, which several sources had informed us was a good place to visit. Besides, it was free. We were under the impression that it was a much shorter walk than it actually ended up being, but I liked getting the chance to look around and walk down the street, which I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to do as of yet.

The Ulster Museum has a great exhibit about The Troubles. It's very informative and, for me, it was shocking to see that all of this was so recent. I don't think it really hits me until I see pictures.

This was the first place I didn’t feel quite right capturing pictures. It always feels odd to me to take pictures in museums, because I feel like they should be experienced. There’s a lot more at the Ulster Museum than The Troubles (but it’s quite a good section). We only had time to stay for a little while, though, as we had a castle to see and a late train to catch.

I should mention that the Ulster Museum is right next to a certain Queen’s University Belfast, where a certain roommate of mine is also studying abroad this semester…

A wild Caitlin appears! (This picture is from a bit later in the day, but just go with it.)

After meeting up with the Caitlins (my friends know another Caitlin, who is studying at the Jordanstown campus, and she also met us in Belfast), we went to eat at Maggie May’s, which is a lovely restaurant with delicious food. I had an omelet and chips that filled me right up!

After we left the restaurant, we made our way back to the city centre, where we finally figured out that any 1 bus would take us to the castle, which is a little outside of the city centre. In true Northern Ireland fashion, it had, of course, started to rain. From the place where the bus let us off, it was actually quite a trek uphill to the castle, but the sight that greeted us when we got there was definitely worth it.

This is a place that exists.

We explored the castle, which had several rooms full of information about the castle and its history, which was of course quite interesting, but the thing that stuck with me the most were the wedding photos from as early as the 1940s. For some reason, I love old wedding photos. I love studying people’s faces, their expressions, how they’re presenting themselves, and of course the changing fashions. It was another thing I didn’t quite feel comfortable taking a picture of– a photograph of a photograph of people I don’t even know was just a little too secondhand for me. As you might be able to tell, Belfast Castle is quite a picturesque place, so it’s no wonder people want to hold important events here. While we were exploring, there was a woman having a birthday party in one of the rooms. The view from the castle is rather spectacular.

Put on your fancy clothes 'cause this is a fancy party.

I got some nice pictures, but nothing beats seeing it in person. I realize you can say this about most things, but it’s truly an experience: you’ve got to have that cold wind and that odd sort of silence that comes from being so high up and far away from everything. You’ve got to be able to see the cars moving like tiny raindrops across a window. Unfortunately, my camera can’t capture that. And I don’t quite know that I want it to. (Touristy pride aside.)

After leaving the castle, we made our way to Victoria Square for a tiny bit of shopping (I bought the most exciting of all items, bath towels). Then we asked a woman at the bus stop how to get to the train station, which ended up being a short-ish walk. The moon was almost full, and had a lovely ring around it. I always like walking through cities at night because it gives you a completely different view of the same streets. Belfast is no exception.

Victoria Square

By the time we boarded the train back to Coleraine, I was pretty exhausted. I watched the lights out the window until I couldn’t see them anymore, then turned my attention to people watching. (It always gets more interesting to watch people at night. You usually get a much livelier crowd.) One image that stuck with me was a dad walking around with his very young daughter (she must have been about a year old) and letting her look at all the cool stuff on the train. Occasionally, he’d hold her up to the clear luggage racks so that she could see him through it. I’m not doing this interaction justice. It was precious.

Anyone who knows me might know that I adore children the most when they are about 10 yards away from me. So this was at an ideal distance. It’s only just now begun to strike me that perhaps it’s a bit creepy to watch other people interact with their kids, but it’s one of my favorite things to see, and there’s no shortage of sweet family interactions here. At the church we visited on Sunday, The Vineyard, we attended the early service, which is apparently the one to attend if you have kids. For the entire hour, the room was never completely silent. I don’t even think it got close. It was a unique sort of noise, being surrounded by children for the entire service.

It’s another one of those things you can’t snap a picture of, partly because it’s sort of weird to take pictures of a person you don’t know without asking permission, and partly because you can’t capture what’s so enchanting about a small human being in just a picture.

And I suppose, in a broader sense, there’s a lot of this experience that I can never capture for you, not in words, not in pictures, not in any way known to man. Perhaps if I had a pensieve, like in Harry Potter… but even that concept has always been a bit problematic in my mind. Memory is a tricky thing; every time you remember something, your brain literally reconstructs the memory. You’re never going to capture a moment and keep it whole. It will always be broken down somehow, something will always be lost.

But that’s precisely why I’m here, to experience these things for myself. I know that I can’t keep every part of this forever, and that’s okay. I’m happy to be here and able to record as much as possible, but at the same time, I don’t want to get so caught up in recording it that I don’t experience it at all.

Enough musing. Look at my Shakespeare book!

Talk about things you can't keep. This would take up practically half the weight limit in my suitcase!

Chill Out: Literally and Figuratively

**Note: I wrote this last night, but my internet’s been dodgy and this was the first chance I’ve had to post it. I suppose if you’re reading this in the States, it’s early in the morning, so it doesn’t make that much difference.

When I got here, the first thing I noticed about Northern Ireland is that it’s cold. The thing I continue to notice… I think you know where I’m going with this.

It's cold.

Okay, looking at the temperatures, it’s only about 30-40 degrees (Fahrenheit, of course) every day. But the wind is what gets you. It feels perfectly fine– pleasantly brisk, even– until that wind starts blowing. I’ve experienced strong wind before, but combine that with the dampness almost constantly present in the air and, okay, the fact that I’m from Georgia, and you’ve got some very cold wind. It cuts straight through your clothing. It turns umbrellas inside out. If I were a bit lighter, it would be a viable mode of transportation. My hand-knitted green scarf has been a life saver; it’s toasty warm.

Almost as good for curing your cold Kathryn as a hot cup of tea. Almost.

I’ve been living in temporary accommodation at Agherton Village, which is about 3 miles down the road from the University in Portstewart. It’s a lovely place, but I’m glad I’m finally moved on campus now. Everything is much closer and I don’t have to take the bus every day. This morning, however, I had to make the trek one last time.

This morning, on my first day of class, I walked out of my door and immediately felt the difference: it was much colder (or maybe just windier) than it had been in the last couple of days. I began my daily struggle with the front door (I could get my door to lock, but I could not get it to close. It was very frustrating) with my hair blowing in my face. I must have slammed the door about ten times and muttered insults (You’re so stupid, it’s like you’re made of wood or something, it’s like talking to a door) under my breath for at least 5 minutes. Five minutes doesn’t seem like a very long time until you spend it arguing with a door on a cold winter morning.

Since students are finally moving back in, I had acquired a few new neighbors since the night before. My next door neighbor Michael, who was on his way to class as well, kindly stopped to help me with my door, which of course he managed to close on the first or second try.

I was… embarrassed. Here I was, making a fool of myself, hair blowing all over the place, stressed and flustered over the door, and he just comes right up and locks it. (The nerve, right?) The perfectionist in me was immediately offended that someone existed who could close that blasted door. If I couldn’t do it, no one else should be able to do it either. If I couldn’t do it, it had to be impossible, right? I had tried so hard.

The thing about it is, you have to be gentle with the door. You have to close it just the right way. Where I had slammed the door, Michael closed it firmly. It was quieter. It was smoother. It worked. Everyone else who had closed that door had made it look easy, and I realized that it was because closing that door was easy. I had been trying way too hard, trying to force it to close rather than beckoning it along. Later, while we were waiting at the bus stop, I complained that my hair was a mess and that I should have had the foresight to put it up; I knew how windy it was. My friends suggested that it was not messy but “windswept and interesting.”

Well.

That’s a bit better.

Perhaps this is a premature generalization, but things seem to move a bit slower here. I haven’t seen a lot of people get worked up about small things the way I tend to. Of course, I have no doubt these things happen. They happen everywhere. But most of the people I’ve met– bus drivers, cab drivers, professors, and fellow students– seem to be quite easygoing and willing to help if you’re having trouble. And they don’t have verbal altercations with their doors. (Generally speaking.) Other international students, too, seem to have a better outlook on daily frustrations than I do and have been immensely helpful. I’m honestly touched by their kindness. It’s more than I ever expected. Watching others overcome obstacles with grace and still be willing to help me allowed me to turn a magnifying glass on myself. Frankly, I was a mess of nerves, and it was starting to show.

This afternoon, while standing at a bus stop, I watched a flock of birds make their way across the beautiful blue-and-white sky. They moved gracefully, not blown about by the wind but empowered by it. And I hate to get cheesy here, but it was one of the most beautiful and peaceful things I’ve ever seen. It made me feel better after the day I’d spent running around the University trying to get all my classes and registrations sorted. It gave me a different perspective on how I’d been moving around since I got here. It was like I’d been furiously digging a tunnel with a kiddie plastic shovel. What I really needed to do was ask someone for a grown-up shovel. And perhaps find someone to help me dig.

Of course, I moved out tonight, so I’m never going to get my chance to negotiate with the door. But the lesson remains: let things that are easy be easy. There are a lot of frustrating things about traveling and adjusting to life in another country: learning new landscapes and layouts, understanding schedules and timetables that look different than they do in the States, taking a shower in a space about half the size you’re used to and getting water in your eyes, not being able to find notebook paper that looks like the stuff you’re used to, and feeling supremely stupid in class. It’s those everyday frustrations on top of the stress of being in an unfamiliar place that really get to me. But this morning reminded me to slow down, examine my need for everything to be just so, and, well.

Chill out.

What Might Have Been My First Out of Body Experience, or, That Time I Traveled Across the Ocean by Myself

Having considered this for a few days, I have decided that someone-not-me successfully made the trek from Atlanta to Coleraine. Here, I have a conversation with her.

I’ve done a few new things in the last few days (she writes nonchalantly). I boarded a flight from Atlanta to London by myself when I’d never flown internationally before. I thought I was going to be sick until takeoff, which is the best feeling in the world. After I got off the plane, I had to go through customs, which was its own challenge. I got in the wrong line twice. Fortunately, I didn’t have any trouble once I got there. The man at the desk read my letter, stamped my passport, and sent me on my way. Taking off my coat, bags, and shoes was the worst part of security.

I then tried not to fall asleep in Heathrow for five and a half hours… because I was alone. The only thing I could really do was move from seat to seat and watch different TV screens because I had two heavy bags. Plus, it was kind of a gray, dreary day…

You are getting veeeery sleeeeepy

I boarded another flight from London to Belfast that afternoon. I slept from the time we took off to the time we landed. I’m pretty certain that the man across the aisle was laughing at me because I fell asleep with my mouth open. After I got off the plane, the fun part started.

The fun part?

Yes, that’s right, the worst part. I’m getting there. I got off the plane at about 4:40 p.m., claimed my bag and had no clue where to go. I asked the man at the tourism desk, and he told me a few things I couldn’t quite understand. Something about a bus. I knew I needed to get on a bus. To Coleraine. So I got on a bus and hoped for the best.

You just got on a bus. Just picked a bus. And got on it. In another country.

Yes. It was the only one there! Fortunately it was the right one. By this time it was dark and navigating my way through an unfamiliar city in the dark would not have been fun. I got off that bus at the station and bought a muffin. Then I got on another bus–

Wait. Okay. This is bus number two.

Yes. To the bus station in Coleraine. I rode that bus for about 2 hours. (I might or might not have fallen asleep.) Then I–

Don’t tell me. You got on another bus.

Well, first I had to ask the bus driver which bus to get on. He told me that I needed to get on the bus that was coming at “half past et.” But I tried to get on the wrong bus anyway. Fortunately, I found that all the bus drivers were very helpful and friendly. I also met a really nice girl named Susie on my last bus, and she told me where my stop was. I got off the bus in front of… a Tesco. Fortunately, my housing was right next to the store. Then I had to call my RA for what must have been the fourth time that night to get him to let me into my room. Even though it was only about 9:00, it felt like 3 a.m.

So let me get this straight. You– I– Kathryn Dean, whoever this person is, she did all that. By herself. Then the next day she found out that the University had sent someone to meet her at the airport and not informed her of this fact.

Yeah. This is what happened. Promise.

I still can’t believe I did all that.

Yes, well, neither can anyone else.

I'm here! Somehow!