I wish I knew where to start…the beginning is hardly ever as good an idea as it might sound.
So, Arthur’s Day it is.
Last Thursday was a mega celebration all throughout the world, celebrating the 250th anniversary of the founding of Arthur Guinness’s brewery. From what I understand, parties took place in the U.S. too, but believe me when I say Dublin was the only place to be. That evening, my cousins picked me up and brought me to their local college bar—which, I might add, is the biggest, rowdiest thing I have ever encountered—and at 17:59, i.e. almost 6pm, everyone in the entire bar and city and country raised their pints shouting all sorts of things, but mostly, “To Arthur.” Fun Fact: The Arthur’s Day celebrations temporarily boost the failing Irish economy by 2%—how’s that for something?
For hours and hours cheers of “To Arthur” could be heard from living room windows, bars, gutters, and more…it seemed everyone was out. The streets were packed and lively, and half-guzzled glasses of Guinness lined the sidewalks, marking where people seemed to have simply said “Enough” or at least something to that effect. In honor of the holiday, I even sucked it up and choked down a glass (Don’t worry Mom, it was just one and I couldn’t have possibly had more if I wanted—it is like eating a whole turkey!)
The highlight of Arthur’s Day though, undoubtedly, was the Irish dancing. The place we were at, called the Living Room located off O’Connell Street, had a big outdoor stage and hosted a man and woman who put on show just shortly after the big toast. When they’d finished, they invited 12 of the most drunk humans I’ve ever encountered onto the stage so that they could engage in their own version of step dancing. Needless to say, watching them link arms, kick legs, and skip about made my night entirely complete…oh yes, that and my green glowsticks.
But on to more serious matters—like classes! Today was the first official day of the Michaelmas Term and boy, oh boy, was it a mammoth fail. Claire, my friend from K College, found me wandering hopelessly on the fourth floor, searching for Room 4050A, where, at 10am, I was to enjoy a spritely lecture on Non-Realist Writing. As it turned out we were headed to the same place, and so together we wandered until we found what we believed to be the room. Not only was there a printed piece of paper with an arrow pointing toward the door, some very helpful students—I can only assume they were students—drew with chalk in the cinderblocks, announcing the same information. So in we went, sat down, and we waited. 10 minutes late, our professor walked in and welcomed us to “Jews in the Medieval World.”
After the comedy of errors that has been my experience thus far in navigating Trinity College, paired with the sense of confidence with which I had only moments earlier plopped myself down, I knew that this was one of those times when giggles would be hard to suppress. I did my best not to make eye contact with Claire, instead choosing to shake with laughter and focus intensely on my shoes until it passed (always a good strategy—and subtle too!).
It worked fine until the kind professor announced that, lucky for us, we wouldn’t have any reading this week so that we could “find our feet and sort out our classes.” Claire scoffed, I laughed, Claire laughed—it was contagious and it disastrous. Eventually we recovered and the professor continued. Occasional outbursts were had, and they were only made worse by the reality familiar to even the most casual history student that Jewish history is hardly ever funny. In short, I spent the better part of an hour with a shit-eating-grin on my face doing my best to think about sad things just in order to keep it under control…dead babies, AIDS, 9/11, etc. Sometimes it worked, other times…err, not so much.
Finally the clock wound down, and after class I took a serious look at the visiting student board. I now seem to have made some sense of how it all goes…still not sure what went wrong this morning, but hopes for finding my afternoon classes are high.
And have I mentioned I live by my stomach? That is, of course, after I was introduced to my first Chipper. Ask anyone who was there, it was a challenge to get me out. So far I’ve tried batter burgers (WOAH), and tasty fries (make sure you’re sitting down). The latter is just a tin of chips with bacon and onions mixed in and yummy cheese melted on top. I opted for ketchup but I’m pretty sure it’s sick either way. I’ve been trying to think where we could open one up in the neighborhood, and really, now that La Plaza Mexico is closed I think we would be foolish not to scoop up such prime real estate! Who’s in?
In other news, I’m overjoyed daily by tourists and fellow students who ask me for directions and lull me into a sense of at least looking like I belong, so much so that the disappointment in their eyes as soon as I open the mouth no longer even phases me!
I’m learning how to cook so that I can expand my diet beyond frozen pizzas and cheese, and so far it’s going pretty damn well. I made a scrumptious chicken parm meal, a tomato sauce with bacon and lots of veggies, all sorts of truly delish salads, and—DRUM ROLL PLEASE—Pavlova. Yes, you heard me right. I made meringue with hand whipped cream and fresh fruit. Expect some at Christmas because I’m on a kick now.
Oh, and Lucozade? Can you say brilliant?
