Just posted a few photos that I've taken around camp on Facebook. Here they are!
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10101168112135760.3071411.4924963&type=1
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Brilliant.
In two weeks of being a student of Irish people, Irish culture, and Irish cooking, I've decided it's a hundred small things that make Ireland so different from home rather than any one thing.
1. Nothing is ever really cold, except for the weather. Milk, yogurt, water .... all slightly above room temperature. American refrigerators are arctic blasts compared to anything here. And no one is ever concerned if milk or eggs get left out. Yet they rarely get sick. Makes me wonder what all the fuss is about back home.
2. Nothing is "awesome," it is "brilliant!" And the Irish don't thank you, they say "thanks a million!"
3. Pubs are for everyone. I haven't gotten IDed since passing through immigration. Children, the elderly, college students, parents, all hang out in pubs.
4. Speaking of pubs, pints are a great invention, and one I would like to bring back to Georgia. Forget red solo cups, having a pint of an Irish beer is where it's at. It's the perfect amount, and the pint glass is solid and sturdy, like it's encouraging you to drink out of it.
5. Also speaking of pubs, I finally discovered a true Irish, non-touristy pub and heard real Irish pub music! One person sits down with an instrument and plays an old Irish tune, and the next thing you know, four more have grabbed instruments (accordian, banjo, guitar, piccolo, and SPOONS! Yes, spoons.) and join in. They all know all the words. It's quite the change from the 23-year old who hasn't showered playing somewhere on Clayton Street.
6. It's a "mild" winter when it's in the 40s every day and raining. No less than 10 people have commented to me about how mild this winter has been, which is extremely terrifying to me as I've been frozen at least once a day since getting off the plane.
7. All "North Americans" are the same. Most can't tell the difference between me and my new Canadian friend.
8. They pronounce the second "T" in Atlanta. At-LAN-Ta. This took me a little while to realize. No one from Atlanta says all the letters. At-lannnna. Say it outloud. So when I would tell people where I was from, they would look at me with a blank stare (this happens to me a lot in Ireland. I've learned to speak more slowly). Then I have to say "You know, AT-LAN-TA." Then they say "Ohhhh! At-LAN-Ta, Georgia!" and start excitedly telling me about their trips to New York, Boston, and Chicago.Oh, well.
9. It's sort of like playing Russian Roulette when you take a shower in Ireland. The water may or may not match the temperature of the weather outside. I think this is what leads to all the drinking-- trying to forget your cold shower. :)
10. Every meal must include potatoes, except breakfast. New friends have asked if we eat many potatoes back home, and when I say no, they look confused, and ask, "What else do you eat?"
11. The food is truly fantastic, but it's eaten in what are strange combinations to me. Example: Lunch: Beef lasagna, french fries (chips), tomato soup. Breakfast: Baked beans, sausage rolls, grilled tomatoes, porridge. All great one at a time, and I'm learning to enjoy them together.
All in all, Ireland is truly a fantastic country and I'm still amazed that I'll be here until Christmastime.
I arrived at camp last Sunday afternoon, after a strenuous morning of moving myself and my four million pound bags. The hotel I was staying at was very nice, but didn't have a luggage cart (what?), and the receptionist looked at me funny when I asked for one. So I dragged my stuff (which had expanded since Marietta) down this tiny elevator in three trips, and got into cab. The cab driver, after asking politely why I brought so many things, was very friendly and found me a luggage cart when we got to the airport (finally -- a cart! What a novelty.) However, it had this weird brake system that I didn't know about, so the whole time I thought my cart was just broken as I struggled to push it through the airport figuring out where to meet the camp driver. After 20 minutes of struggle cart, an airport employee stopped me and showed me how to release the brake. I was too thankful to even care that I looked like an idiot American before. Eventually, Percy the driver found me and the struggle cart, and we made it to the Barretstown van. It's about 45 minutes to camp from the Dublin airport, and we chatted about his trips to New York and D.C. (of course).
Eventually you get to really small, windy, country roads that seem like they should be one-way, but aren't. Then you make it to Barretstown. When Percy first said "Here we are -- all of this is Barretstown" I thought he was kidding. I think my jaw dropped. There are 500 acres of fields of rolling hills, sheep, cows, and beautiful landscape. It looks like the countryside that Abby and I paid 50 euro to tour on a bus, but even more beautiful because it's missing the tour buses. Eventually you wind your way to the center of camp, and you see a small lake, and the Barretstown castle, which was built in the 12th century (or something like that). Once the assistant director helped me to settle in, I immediately grabbed my camera and went for a walk. Snapped so many photos that I'll share soon. I'm still pinching myself that I live here now, and when I wake up and hear sheep making sheep noises, I laugh outloud.
We've spent the last week training -- team building, planning, etc. There are seven of us on the leadership "support team" that will oversee camp for the next nine months. We'll serve families for weekend programming throughout the spring and fall, and children for six summer sessions. There are four team members from Ireland, one from Scotland, one from Canada, and me. We are a lively bunch to say the least. :)
More about work later, but I'm off to enjoy St. Patrick's Day in Ireland! (Apparently, it is a much bigger deal in America, but it's a bank holiday here so we have Monday off! I'll take it.). Lots of love from across the ocean,
CNG
1. Nothing is ever really cold, except for the weather. Milk, yogurt, water .... all slightly above room temperature. American refrigerators are arctic blasts compared to anything here. And no one is ever concerned if milk or eggs get left out. Yet they rarely get sick. Makes me wonder what all the fuss is about back home.
2. Nothing is "awesome," it is "brilliant!" And the Irish don't thank you, they say "thanks a million!"
3. Pubs are for everyone. I haven't gotten IDed since passing through immigration. Children, the elderly, college students, parents, all hang out in pubs.
4. Speaking of pubs, pints are a great invention, and one I would like to bring back to Georgia. Forget red solo cups, having a pint of an Irish beer is where it's at. It's the perfect amount, and the pint glass is solid and sturdy, like it's encouraging you to drink out of it.
5. Also speaking of pubs, I finally discovered a true Irish, non-touristy pub and heard real Irish pub music! One person sits down with an instrument and plays an old Irish tune, and the next thing you know, four more have grabbed instruments (accordian, banjo, guitar, piccolo, and SPOONS! Yes, spoons.) and join in. They all know all the words. It's quite the change from the 23-year old who hasn't showered playing somewhere on Clayton Street.
6. It's a "mild" winter when it's in the 40s every day and raining. No less than 10 people have commented to me about how mild this winter has been, which is extremely terrifying to me as I've been frozen at least once a day since getting off the plane.
7. All "North Americans" are the same. Most can't tell the difference between me and my new Canadian friend.
8. They pronounce the second "T" in Atlanta. At-LAN-Ta. This took me a little while to realize. No one from Atlanta says all the letters. At-lannnna. Say it outloud. So when I would tell people where I was from, they would look at me with a blank stare (this happens to me a lot in Ireland. I've learned to speak more slowly). Then I have to say "You know, AT-LAN-TA." Then they say "Ohhhh! At-LAN-Ta, Georgia!" and start excitedly telling me about their trips to New York, Boston, and Chicago.Oh, well.
9. It's sort of like playing Russian Roulette when you take a shower in Ireland. The water may or may not match the temperature of the weather outside. I think this is what leads to all the drinking-- trying to forget your cold shower. :)
10. Every meal must include potatoes, except breakfast. New friends have asked if we eat many potatoes back home, and when I say no, they look confused, and ask, "What else do you eat?"
11. The food is truly fantastic, but it's eaten in what are strange combinations to me. Example: Lunch: Beef lasagna, french fries (chips), tomato soup. Breakfast: Baked beans, sausage rolls, grilled tomatoes, porridge. All great one at a time, and I'm learning to enjoy them together.
All in all, Ireland is truly a fantastic country and I'm still amazed that I'll be here until Christmastime.
I arrived at camp last Sunday afternoon, after a strenuous morning of moving myself and my four million pound bags. The hotel I was staying at was very nice, but didn't have a luggage cart (what?), and the receptionist looked at me funny when I asked for one. So I dragged my stuff (which had expanded since Marietta) down this tiny elevator in three trips, and got into cab. The cab driver, after asking politely why I brought so many things, was very friendly and found me a luggage cart when we got to the airport (finally -- a cart! What a novelty.) However, it had this weird brake system that I didn't know about, so the whole time I thought my cart was just broken as I struggled to push it through the airport figuring out where to meet the camp driver. After 20 minutes of struggle cart, an airport employee stopped me and showed me how to release the brake. I was too thankful to even care that I looked like an idiot American before. Eventually, Percy the driver found me and the struggle cart, and we made it to the Barretstown van. It's about 45 minutes to camp from the Dublin airport, and we chatted about his trips to New York and D.C. (of course).
Eventually you get to really small, windy, country roads that seem like they should be one-way, but aren't. Then you make it to Barretstown. When Percy first said "Here we are -- all of this is Barretstown" I thought he was kidding. I think my jaw dropped. There are 500 acres of fields of rolling hills, sheep, cows, and beautiful landscape. It looks like the countryside that Abby and I paid 50 euro to tour on a bus, but even more beautiful because it's missing the tour buses. Eventually you wind your way to the center of camp, and you see a small lake, and the Barretstown castle, which was built in the 12th century (or something like that). Once the assistant director helped me to settle in, I immediately grabbed my camera and went for a walk. Snapped so many photos that I'll share soon. I'm still pinching myself that I live here now, and when I wake up and hear sheep making sheep noises, I laugh outloud.
We've spent the last week training -- team building, planning, etc. There are seven of us on the leadership "support team" that will oversee camp for the next nine months. We'll serve families for weekend programming throughout the spring and fall, and children for six summer sessions. There are four team members from Ireland, one from Scotland, one from Canada, and me. We are a lively bunch to say the least. :)
More about work later, but I'm off to enjoy St. Patrick's Day in Ireland! (Apparently, it is a much bigger deal in America, but it's a bank holiday here so we have Monday off! I'll take it.). Lots of love from across the ocean,
CNG
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Conquering Ireland
In Ireland, you must "mind" everything. Mind your step, mind the gap, mind your sense of direction to avoid getting hit by a car driving down the wrong side of the road, and, most importantly, mind the Irish. This was one of the first pieces of advice given to Abby and I by a local Irishman over a pint of Guinness. We've yet to determine what exactly this means, but I suppose I have nine months to figure it out.
On Monday morning at half past six (the Irish appear confused when you said things like "six thirty a.m.), Abby and I landed in Dublin after seven hours in our "economy comfort" Delta seats (i.e. four more inches of legroom, 30 percent more recline, and zero percent more sleep). In our zombie-like state, we stumbled up to the Immigration line, where I then met the scariest man I've ever encountered. I don't know his name, and he didn't care to share it with me, but I think his night job may be interrogating suspects for MI-5. He did not believe that I am gainfully employed in Ireland nor did he believe my work permit is on the cusp of going through. He had never heard of Barretstown, nor did he care, and he had never heard of the town where I will be living and likely believes I made it up. Right before he locked me up in Irish purgatory, I said a very direct, strong prayer to the Good Lord, something along the lines of "Dear God I will not make it in Irish jail." Immigration Man stamped my passport, giving me two weeks as a visitor to show a permit before I get kicked out of Ireland forever. One hurdle down.
After struggling through baggage claim, a long lift in a taxi, and checking into our hotel, we slept it off until after lunch, and then rallied with the best of 'em to make it out and about for the day. Dublin is a a busy place, but the city center is compact and it's easy to walk everywhere. The sun made an appearance that afternoon (the only day this week that happened), which eased our transition. We strolled down Grafton Street, a pedestrian only area with shopping and dining, and found lattes and food on the balcony of Bewley's, a landmark in Dublin apparently.
I think I could write a whole blog on food experiences in Ireland, but we've yet to be disappointed. Meals are relatively inexpensive for the quality (especially compared to other European countries I've been to), and portions are hearty and filling. Irish food is not for the faint of heart -- beef, lamb, fish, potatoes, and stout -- when you live in a country where it is always cold and raining -- always -- you have to eat to make yourself warm and happy. Not a bad game plan. While there is an Irish pub on every corner offering traditional favorites (loving the fish and chips), I was shocked by the number of international options. Chinese, Thai, Italian, Vietnamese, Cuban, Greek, Spanish, American, Mexican (YES!), sushi, seafood .... places I didn't know were real places have made their mark on the Irish food scene. Aside from those, there are an overwhelming number of quaint, girlie, lovely cafes that call your name when you walk by -- please, Abby and Christina, come inside and have a scone or a tart and a pot of tea! So, we did. Our favorites were the Rhubarb Cafe and Queen of Tarts -- I plan to go back as often as possible.
We did our due diligence as tourists in the city. As we both pulled our Rick Steve's and Frommer's Ireland books out of our purses, we discovered that we both came from families where our moms read to us from travel books on every trip, which is very embarrassing as a middle-schooler. However, at that moment we decided to own the fact that we were tourists and learned a great deal about the city in two days (Thank you, Rick, and mom). We saw Dublin Castle, which was the center of British rule in Ireland in the 1800s (or at least at some point), and The Guinness Storehouse. We also saw several parks and squares, where Irish school children were walking two-by-two. Very "Madeline" esque. We walked along the river, and ate a meal in the famous "Temple Bar" area. We strayed away from there at night, since our cab driver told us the only people who go to Temple Bar are "tourists and Irish looking to pick up tourists."
We met a lot of locals along the way, and discovered that we also both came from families where our moms would talk to anyone and everyone they met on trips. Again, embarrassing as a middle-schooler, but it's hard to overcome your genes. We stuck up conversations whenever possible, and learned many things -- most importantly, girls should not drink Guinness, and "Slancha" is the Irish word for cheers. Go figure.
Mid-week we made it to Galway, which is now one of my favorite European cities. It's large enough to be vibrant, but small enough to have character. It's on the water, and in one of the most beautiful counties in Ireland. From Galway, you can get to the famous Cliffs of Moher, the Burren national park, and the Connemara area. As we sat at a pub over a pint, we were debating whether to try our hand at renting a car and driving on the wrong side of the road to these places, or getting on a (possibly lame and slow) bus tour. An old Irishman overheard us, looked concerned, and told us to "get on the f***ing bus." Point taken, sir. So, on the bus we went. Desmond was our driver, he was about 80 years old, and has been taking tourists to the Burren and Cliffs of Moher six days a week for the last 18 years. He is full of Irish knowledge and says everything twice. We got on and off the bus for about nine hours and felt like we had seen all of Ireland. The Burren is one of the most unique landscapes I have ever seen, filled with strange rocks with slits in them. And the Cliffs of Moher are breathtaking. You see them in pictures, but the pictures can't convey how absolutely colossal they are. It is one of the windiest, coldest, wettest places I have ever been, but you almost don't notice because you're dumbfounded by what you're seeing. I was slightly terrified to learn that 14 people lost their lives at the Cliffs last year (wandered off the edge, I suppose!), so I minded the gap very carefully on this excursion. Abby did not, and wandered right past the "Danger! Don't go any further!" sign. She made it, but it was a close one.
I spent the rest of my time preparing for "real" life in Ireland. Bought a hair dryer and straightener (at T.K. Maxx... just like T.J. Maxx!), got an Irish cell phone for local matters, picked up a few groceries at Tesco, and bought a few more warm clothing items -- hat, gloves, socks, rainboots. They weren't kidding about the weather here.
I was really encouraged by speaking with a few people who got excited when I told them I would be working at Barretstown, and said it's a "well known" charity in Ireland. The first few people I spoke with just looked confused when I explained it, so I was getting a little worried. Apparently I just hadn't found the right people yet. :)
A few other observations:
-People smoke here, but not as much as in other countries. Smoking was banned in pubs and restaurants, so it's very nice.
-Gaelic is the craziest language I've ever seen. I've yet to make any sense of it.
-The Irish have much nicer words for everything than we do in America. A porta potty? No. An Extra loo! They don't have "trash," they have "litter." They don't have "bachelor and bachelorette parties," they have "hen and stag" parties.
That's all for now -- headed to Barretstown tomorrow!
CG
On Monday morning at half past six (the Irish appear confused when you said things like "six thirty a.m.), Abby and I landed in Dublin after seven hours in our "economy comfort" Delta seats (i.e. four more inches of legroom, 30 percent more recline, and zero percent more sleep). In our zombie-like state, we stumbled up to the Immigration line, where I then met the scariest man I've ever encountered. I don't know his name, and he didn't care to share it with me, but I think his night job may be interrogating suspects for MI-5. He did not believe that I am gainfully employed in Ireland nor did he believe my work permit is on the cusp of going through. He had never heard of Barretstown, nor did he care, and he had never heard of the town where I will be living and likely believes I made it up. Right before he locked me up in Irish purgatory, I said a very direct, strong prayer to the Good Lord, something along the lines of "Dear God I will not make it in Irish jail." Immigration Man stamped my passport, giving me two weeks as a visitor to show a permit before I get kicked out of Ireland forever. One hurdle down.
After struggling through baggage claim, a long lift in a taxi, and checking into our hotel, we slept it off until after lunch, and then rallied with the best of 'em to make it out and about for the day. Dublin is a a busy place, but the city center is compact and it's easy to walk everywhere. The sun made an appearance that afternoon (the only day this week that happened), which eased our transition. We strolled down Grafton Street, a pedestrian only area with shopping and dining, and found lattes and food on the balcony of Bewley's, a landmark in Dublin apparently.
I think I could write a whole blog on food experiences in Ireland, but we've yet to be disappointed. Meals are relatively inexpensive for the quality (especially compared to other European countries I've been to), and portions are hearty and filling. Irish food is not for the faint of heart -- beef, lamb, fish, potatoes, and stout -- when you live in a country where it is always cold and raining -- always -- you have to eat to make yourself warm and happy. Not a bad game plan. While there is an Irish pub on every corner offering traditional favorites (loving the fish and chips), I was shocked by the number of international options. Chinese, Thai, Italian, Vietnamese, Cuban, Greek, Spanish, American, Mexican (YES!), sushi, seafood .... places I didn't know were real places have made their mark on the Irish food scene. Aside from those, there are an overwhelming number of quaint, girlie, lovely cafes that call your name when you walk by -- please, Abby and Christina, come inside and have a scone or a tart and a pot of tea! So, we did. Our favorites were the Rhubarb Cafe and Queen of Tarts -- I plan to go back as often as possible.
We did our due diligence as tourists in the city. As we both pulled our Rick Steve's and Frommer's Ireland books out of our purses, we discovered that we both came from families where our moms read to us from travel books on every trip, which is very embarrassing as a middle-schooler. However, at that moment we decided to own the fact that we were tourists and learned a great deal about the city in two days (Thank you, Rick, and mom). We saw Dublin Castle, which was the center of British rule in Ireland in the 1800s (or at least at some point), and The Guinness Storehouse. We also saw several parks and squares, where Irish school children were walking two-by-two. Very "Madeline" esque. We walked along the river, and ate a meal in the famous "Temple Bar" area. We strayed away from there at night, since our cab driver told us the only people who go to Temple Bar are "tourists and Irish looking to pick up tourists."
We met a lot of locals along the way, and discovered that we also both came from families where our moms would talk to anyone and everyone they met on trips. Again, embarrassing as a middle-schooler, but it's hard to overcome your genes. We stuck up conversations whenever possible, and learned many things -- most importantly, girls should not drink Guinness, and "Slancha" is the Irish word for cheers. Go figure.
Mid-week we made it to Galway, which is now one of my favorite European cities. It's large enough to be vibrant, but small enough to have character. It's on the water, and in one of the most beautiful counties in Ireland. From Galway, you can get to the famous Cliffs of Moher, the Burren national park, and the Connemara area. As we sat at a pub over a pint, we were debating whether to try our hand at renting a car and driving on the wrong side of the road to these places, or getting on a (possibly lame and slow) bus tour. An old Irishman overheard us, looked concerned, and told us to "get on the f***ing bus." Point taken, sir. So, on the bus we went. Desmond was our driver, he was about 80 years old, and has been taking tourists to the Burren and Cliffs of Moher six days a week for the last 18 years. He is full of Irish knowledge and says everything twice. We got on and off the bus for about nine hours and felt like we had seen all of Ireland. The Burren is one of the most unique landscapes I have ever seen, filled with strange rocks with slits in them. And the Cliffs of Moher are breathtaking. You see them in pictures, but the pictures can't convey how absolutely colossal they are. It is one of the windiest, coldest, wettest places I have ever been, but you almost don't notice because you're dumbfounded by what you're seeing. I was slightly terrified to learn that 14 people lost their lives at the Cliffs last year (wandered off the edge, I suppose!), so I minded the gap very carefully on this excursion. Abby did not, and wandered right past the "Danger! Don't go any further!" sign. She made it, but it was a close one.
I spent the rest of my time preparing for "real" life in Ireland. Bought a hair dryer and straightener (at T.K. Maxx... just like T.J. Maxx!), got an Irish cell phone for local matters, picked up a few groceries at Tesco, and bought a few more warm clothing items -- hat, gloves, socks, rainboots. They weren't kidding about the weather here.
I was really encouraged by speaking with a few people who got excited when I told them I would be working at Barretstown, and said it's a "well known" charity in Ireland. The first few people I spoke with just looked confused when I explained it, so I was getting a little worried. Apparently I just hadn't found the right people yet. :)
A few other observations:
-People smoke here, but not as much as in other countries. Smoking was banned in pubs and restaurants, so it's very nice.
-Gaelic is the craziest language I've ever seen. I've yet to make any sense of it.
-The Irish have much nicer words for everything than we do in America. A porta potty? No. An Extra loo! They don't have "trash," they have "litter." They don't have "bachelor and bachelorette parties," they have "hen and stag" parties.
That's all for now -- headed to Barretstown tomorrow!
CG
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