Cork! Part 1!

I know this post is crazy, crazy late, but at least it's here, right? Maybe?

Anyway.

Even though it looks like it must have been raining the whole time in Cork City based on my pictures, it was really only raining the first few hours. The rest of the time, it was more beautiful than I know how to say. Really. Just wait until I post the sunny-day pictures tomorrow!

Of course, even in the rain, Cork was extremely pretty.

And everyone was really cheerful. That's not something you get so much in Dublin-- at least not during the daytime. People always seem to be in a wicked hurry there, so the change was kind of awesome and refreshing. More than that, really. I adored it. It was more homey. And, actually, parts of Cork reminded me of Vermont, one of my homes. People wore more colorful coats, and half of everyone wore jeans, instead of just leggings or sweatpants. There were a lot of organic and outdoors-themed shops, and tons of mini farmers markets. It was really cute.

Look at the size of the nutella! That would last me, like, a week! (I swear, you guys, that really would last me lots longer than a week. Um.)

Cork seemed to have more of a sense of humor than Dublin.

I mean, how fantastically, well, awesome and stupid, is this?

Ok. Story time. That store reminds me of this cabbage patch doll I used to have when I was a little kid. You know how they always come with their own name pre-written on their birth certificates? Well, mine came named, Tempest Rina. No lie. So, of course, I ended up calling her, "Tempted Rino," just because. I was like eight. Ok. That was a pretty lame story, wasn't it?

Anyway!

I think this is my favorite Cork City picture. It makes me laugh whenever I see it. The old lady just makes it.

Another thing about Cork? There are hills! Really high ones. Actually, ones much higher than the Burlington hills, even . Ones so high that instead of walking up the streets, you have the choice of taking stairs. Really steep ones that climb up concrete cliffs in two flights.

That, up the cliffs, up the stairs, was where most of the houses seemed to be. So, if you lived in Cork City, chances are that you would actually live high above the city. It's pretty neat.

At night, it's even more than that, more than just cool. The view crossing the River Lee to city center at night, is one of the most beautiful city sights I've ever seen. The hills are all around you-- to the side of you and behind you-- in the distance, and they're all full with tiny golden lights like fairies, and reflecting on the river below. Just gorgeous.

This was the best picture of any sort of hill I could find in my albums, and it's not a very steep one. My excuse is that my camera was being wicked lame. Technology really doesn't like me. Too bad I like it. Well, sort of. Sometimes. Sort of sometimes.

*

I was mostly on my own the first two days. I made a kind of stupid mistake planning for my trip; I shouldn't have left on a Saturday, and especially not so late on one. Because when I got to my hostel, no one was hanging out either in my bedroom or the common room. No one was around to meet. So, I ended up going to the pubs on my own. I'd never done that before, and I'd rather not do it again. It's not that it was unsafe-- I felt very safe-- but it was awkward, walking into a pub and not knowing anyone. In that sort of situation, without your friends, or at least someone, it can be hard to know how to act, and that's something I'd just never thought of before. It's just so much easier and nicer knowing people. Though, I did end up having a fun night.

Actually, the first couple days were kind of lonely. I hadn't anticipated that it all, but I really was kind of alone. I didn't know anyone, and I couldn't text anyone because I was pretty much the only Champlain kid still in Ireland. After a day of that, it felt like I hadn't talked to anyone in ages, which was kind of hard.

At the same time-- I know, this is so conflicting-- I wouldn't change it. Because I did meet more people, awesome people, later, and even while I didn't know anyone, it was fun. Freeing. I didn't have to be anywhere or do anything. I could just run around the city, explore whatever I wanted, and get lost. I like getting lost.

Kilmainham Gaol

I've been wicked fail at blogging lately, and it's awful. I mean, I still have to write about Cork! And that was ages ago! And just so many other things have happened, even though I can't blog about all of them. So, pretty much, expect a post about most of that soon. Tomorrow, hopefully!

Anyway, I have a story for now. It's sort of about the famine, so if you're in a really wicked awesome mood and want it to stay that way, you might not want to read it just right now.

***

She would shiver, but she forgot how to do that a lifetime ago. Or maybe it was several lifetimes ago. She didn’t know what time was, anymore. She didn’t think, anymore. Couldn’t think. If you asked her what her name was, she wouldn’t be able to tell you, because the person with that name was gone. The person who laughingly sang and danced and whispered and passionately screamed was missing, or else dead. She was a skeleton now, and her smile fled from her face so long ago, to find food elsewhere.

She would say she missed that one happy lifetime, but she’d forgotten how to do that, too.

So, she leaned, hunched against the freezing stone wall of the gaol. Even the hundreds or dozens of bodies didn’t warm the cell. They were far too close to death to emit any sort of heat. And they were all just angles, anyway, all shells of former people. Their limbs were like paper, and they had no fat or strength to block out the frigid air. The winter wind would rush in and have no problem blowing through their brittle, fast disappearing, bodies.

Once upon a time, she came to the gaol to survive. She’d thought that the gaol, with its regular meals, would save her. But then the meals weren’t regular. But then she forgot what living was. And then she forgot what death was, so she had no reason to fear it.

She saw the ghosts of the dead sometimes. The ashen, unblinking faces she’d once known and once watched grow stiff. Their ghosts were the same as their bodies, saying nothing except in their eyes. Because their eyes told their stories, told of potatoes blackening and laughter falling thousands of feet off a sea cliff, finally shattering. Told of babies growing cold under mounds of soft blankets, songs they tried to sing but ended up not even being able to whisper, the roads they built that went nowhere, just like their weakening, faltering bodies.

Her thoughts had stopped forming words ages ago, but she knew—their eyes told her— life wouldn’t last much longer. She wasn’t sure whether or not to be grateful, so she just wasn’t anything.

But she took her last bit of strength and let herself listen to the creakings around her. A child cried, a thin, devastated wail. The emancipated leftovers of a person collapsed to the ground nearly soundlessly, and tried to suck in the dirt floor for food. Another body, one of the few strong enough, rocked back and forth on skin stretched thin and bones, and hummed the same four notes of the same familiar song, over and over again.

She heard all of this, and then she shut her ears, and shut her eyes.

And then my camera went into a coma.

Cork? Was awesome. Except for the fact that my camera kind of broke. Except I think it's actually working again, now, which is weird. I'll take it, though, after four days of seeing beautiful, beautiful places and not being able to keep any of them. Because as awful as it is to say, my memory isn't nearly enough.

Really, what did people do before cameras? I mean, I know that people traveled loads less back in the day, but there were still those who sailed to different continents and stuff. And yeah, some of them painted what they saw, but not everyone has, um, artistic talent. I could try to draw Cork for you guys, but I can't promise that it would a actually look like Cork. Or anywhere in Ireland. Or anywhere in anywhere. You know.

So, I'm picturing explorers coming back from the sea to their homes, their family, and their friends, and trying to describe it all.

"Aw, man, dude, it was wicked, like, just legit, you know? There was, like, grass and stuff, and it was really long, right? Like really long, and there were trees and they were really tall! And then, there were these weird fucking animals, dude, with these crazy beard things. Oh, and one of them ate Paul. Yeah, sorry about that. He tried to pet it. His bad. But, like, other than that, it was like one big party, you know?"

See? It doesn't work. Especially if you're on opium, like that dude apparently was.

Anyhoo, I'll have more on Cork later. Including pictures from when my camera was actually cooperating!

(Technology really, really doesn't like me, does it?)

What it's like right now

Remember that last day of school when you were little? How everyone was so excited for the never ending sleepovers and tag and ice cream for breakfast and beaches that the teachers didn't even try to settle you down?

(Aw, nostalgia again.)

Well, today was almost like that. I mean, not totally, and not really even until my last class, but the energy was the same. The window was open, with wind pouring in at a million miles an hour. And the rain was staying out. And it was golden sunny. And we were (are) about to be free-er than we'll probably be ever again.

Spring Break. In Europe. No responsibilities. No homework, even. In Europe. Yes.

Our professor let us out early, because she's awesome like that.

Oh, and PS, I officially know what I'm doing for break! Sort of! I'm going to Cork on Saturday, and staying for five nights, or maybe more (but probably not), and it's gonna be amazing. I booked my hostel and everything, just a few hours ago. (And I'm pretty sure I didn't mess it up at all, either! But, I have my fingers crossed, just in case.) I'm not bringing my laptop, so I'll probably not have access to internet or anything, but I'm prettttyyyy sure I won't care.

I'll have more details tomorrow. And then? I'm gone! :)

Last Year

Jess, Ryan, Me, Meg

It's my favorite Megan's 21st birthday today. For the past two months, a lot of my favorite people have been getting older. Without me. As much as I adore it here, sometimes I wish I could jump back to New England to celebrate with them. And to play in their eighty kajillion feet of snow. But mostly, just to be with them. I haven't seen them in ages.

Last year, sophomore year, was one of my favorite years ever. Except for a couple bits of drama, which'll always happen, anyway, it was like a never ending laugh.

It was that year we started to say, "toes," instead of, "totally," and saying "'n shit," at the end of everything. Oh, and, "a shit ton of ketchup," after Velvet asked for exactly that one late night, ordering food over the phone. Oh, and then Velvet, with her mad New York axing powers, taught us this rhyme about killing Crypts and watching your favorite color drip, and it was pretty legit. We said it all the time when she was around, just to (lovingly) torture her, of course. It's what any good friends would do.

Me and Velvet. She pretty much taught me how to be a Gangsta.

We almost died a couple of times (well, I did, especially), and we completely trashed kitchens making cupcakes with extra chocolate chips and no mixer. We discovered Bo Burnham and played him loudly in public until the neighbors yelled at us to turn it off, even though I'm pretty sure they couldn't actually hear the lyrics. Their revenge was to knock on our door with brownies that were so bad, we couldn't even find any boys willing to eat them.

We hid from horror movies and mirrors, and decided that the dorm was haunted. (Though, who knows? It might have been. Our TV was sketchy, at least.)

Yeah, we were watching Ghost Adventures. That's what cool people do, you know.

We heard that NASA was going to bomb the moon, and reacted. According to the depths of my facebook, we reacted by, "running to Champlain Farms and getting fun dip, and then running back to the dorm singing, "It's My Life," and making posters about being sad about the moon being blown up. " Oh, and, funny story, we also got stopped by the police that night, because we were being so loud, but we didn't actually get into trouble. I can't believe I only just remembered that. It was a pretty fun night.

It was a pretty fun year.

Easter Grass Fight!

I could go on and on, but really what I'm trying to say is that, everyone back home? I miss you guys! But, all that stuff? It's not over, yet. This summer is going to be the most lovely and ridiculous yet. Life should only ever get better, so that's what I'm gonna make it do. <3

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvivteevvvvvtvpeevvtig5vvv

It seems like every so often, everyone's laptop will blow up and die. Well, minus the blowing up part. Hopefully.

The keyboard of my beloved Macbook has decided that working's for losers. Really, it was only a matter of time before my laptop called it quits, considering that it has, um, holes in it, around the thing you plug your charger in. Okay, so time hasn't been too kind to my laptop. (Sort of like how that flight of stairs it tripped down freshman year, or that day last year it tumbled off my bed twice in a row, or that time my little brother spilled a glass of water on it haven't been particularly kind to it, either.) But, still, I was kind of surprised when I got up for a second to grab some food, and when I came back, the 'z' key wouldn't work. And then five minutes later, when all I could type was, "vvvvvvvvvvvvvvivteevvvvvtvpeevvtig5vvv," because by then almost none of the keys were working, except for the 'v' which wouldn't stop working. And then when none of them worked.

Maybe I'd have been more surprised if my laptop was the only one with suicidal tendencies. But in the past two weeks alone, half of everyone has had something tragic happen to their computer. And even though that's an exaggeration, it's not as big of one as you'd think.

I'm lucky, though, because my mom actually made me bring her old laptop over with me, because she knew mine was bound to die here, what with its holes and all. Of course, I'm totally brilliant and completely forgot about it until yesterday, but it's nice to be able to post on facebook again.

Oh, and complete change of subject, but spring break is next week! I'm still not sure what I'm going to do-- pretty much everyone else is leaving Ireland, but I don't have the money, so I'm staying. I'm definitely going to travel around Ireland, though. I just need to figure out how to get away from Dublin and book hostels and stuff. I'm wicked stoked. I've never traveled alone before in my life, but it's going to be absolutely amazing, I know.

Ruins

I love that Ireland has ruins.

The first time I saw any sort of ruins, I was about eight. I fell in love right away. All it was was this chimney on top a little mountain in Vermont. It was surrounded by four big rocks, each with its own ancient, fraying chain attached to it. My dad joked that back in the day, they were used to tie up bad kids, but I didn't pay him any attention. He was always trying to be funny, and, anyway, the fireplace was what really held my attention. I knew that a fireplace meant that a house must have been there once, and I had to wonder what it must have been like. I wondered what had turned the house into ruins.

Was it some sort of disaster- a fire? Or could it have been the people? Maybe they’d been such an integral part, that once they were gone, the house just couldn’t continue. Whatever the story really was, I decided that it must have been tragic. I pictured plague and running footsteps. Babies crying and wolves howling at nothing. The house falling apart. So, I guess I was kind of morbid. But, I was sure that there was magic in this place.

I remember wondering if maybe the people who had lived there once upon a time where still there, in their house, by their fireplace. I thought of them sitting at a big worn wooden table, made from the trees, probably, that stood just feet away, eating their bread and Vermont cheddar cheese, and looking out at the window that must have once been. They would watch the fog slowly drift off the valley below, revealing white houses, church steeples, and multi-colored trees. Maybe they had seen us, as we walked up the mountain into their world. I pictured them quickly demolishing their window, taking away the wooden table, the bread and cheese, and putting out the fire, making all of it disappear except for the four corner stones and the one fire place.


I wonder what I would have thought if, at that age, I saw Dunluce castle, or any ruined Irish castle. If I'd been able to run through the destroyed rooms. If I was able to peer through the windows at what is still there.

Ruins still feel magical to me. I think they always will, no matter how old I get.