Anywhere But Here

My Semester in Ireland, Part 1

How many people get a chance to fulfill one of their childhood dreams? Not the well-thought out life goal of an adult, or even the semi-realistic dream of a teenager, but the pure, innocent, fantastic and whimsical dream of a young child, who hasn’t yet learned that the world has limits? 

My family is Irish, and I’ve wanted to go to Ireland since I was old enough to conceptualize the idea of separate cultures. When I was younger, I had this vision in my head of a green, green land, with friendly people, hauntingly lovely music, and leprechauns that would grants wishes. 

When I got older, my vision of Ireland changed. Well, actually, it was pretty much the same, minus the leprechauns. But I still wanted to go. So when I found out I could study abroad in Ireland for a semester, I jumped at the chance, caught it, and squeezed it into submission.

After a semester of filling out forms, chasing down professors for recommendations, writing essays, filling out more forms, and staking out my mailbox, I got an answer. In the winter of 2001, I’d be studying at the National University of Ireland at Galway.

The National University of Ireland at Galway

I was ecstatic, my friends were excited, my parents were anxious, and my sisters were thrilled at the prospect of an ocean separating us. I spent Christmas vacation reassuring my mother that I wouldn’t die a horrible, horrible death during the next few months. The rest of the time was spent packing, finding insurance, securing temporary housing, and ten million other little details that had to be taken care of before I left. 

Finally, though, it came down to me, my passport, and my three bags of luggage on an eight-hour flight. After an eternity of sitting and sweating, I got off the plane and welcomed the feel of cool Irish air blowing over me. 

I’d been awake for the past 28 hours, hot and tired from the 8 hour plane ride, and then I had a two hour bus ride to Galway. When I finally arrived, I barely had enough energy to hire a cab and put my luggage inside. 

The first thing that struck me about the Irish was their hospitality. When I arrived at the Ivies, the boarding house I’d made reservations at, one of the staff members, a woman named Carmel, was there to greet me and help me take my luggage upstairs. Then she asked me, “Would you like some tea? And biscuits, or maybe a slice of Christmas cake?”

Bless her. It was exactly what I needed to revive. I sat in the parlor, drinking tea “English style” (heavily doped up with sugar and milk) and munching on “biscuits”— what Americans call “cookies”. Then I stumbled up to my room, and crashed. 

After a good night’s sleep to recover from jet lag, I had a fabulous time exploring Galway. All the buildings are made of stone or concrete, not wood, and most are painted bright colors. The main street of Galway has shops of every kind along them, from tiny jewelry shops to a huge mall called Eyre Square Center. You can walk from one end of town to the other at a leisurely pace in about an hour. Downtown, there’s little or no traffic. Many of the streets are for pedestrians only. 
Not to mention there’s water, water everywhere. Galway sits on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean, and the Corrib River bisects it. As one of my Irish friends put it, “it’s a grand place to commune with the element of water.” I spent many of my Sunday afternoons walking up and down the beach.

The Quays Pub in Ireland

Unfortunately, my time in Ireland wasn’t all about sightseeing. I still had to go to school and learn things. I took four classes at the university, one geography course, one Irish history course, and two European history courses.

The Irish history course covered the creation of the independent nation of Ireland, since 1922. The professor was about 70 or so, so a lot of the things we covered, he was able to talk about from personal experience. He told great anecdotes about Irish politics. 

I had Professor William O’ Reilly for both of my European history courses. Since the courses covered periods during the 16th and 18th centuries, he didn’t have personal anecdotes about his experiences. But he was so enthusiastic about his subjects that it didn’t matter. I loved going to his lectures. He was able to distill the crazy, screwed history of the Habsburg family/dynasty/whatever into something comprehensible, which is more than I can say for any of my American professors. 

The Irish are very relaxed about classes. In the States, professors might say that they don’t care if you attend or not, but show up late, and they’ll glare sharp pointy objects at you. My Irish professors would often themselves not show up until ten or fifteen minutes past the hour! Strange, but I grew to enjoy it.

I lucked out —I only had classes Monday through Thursday. Which meant that whenever we had a bank holiday (Monday) off, I had a four-day weekend. 

Another thing I really loved about Galway is that it truly is a pedestrian city. There is literally nowhere you can’t walk to, if you have enough time. And time was something I definitely had, given my schedule and the relaxed Irish attitude.

Every day I would walk along a canal to get to school. One day in late March, I noticed a swan sitting on what looked like a pile of sticks. It took me a minute to realize that it was a nest. A swan’s nest. I flashed back to the book “The Trumpet of the Swan” by E.B. White. It was one of my favorite stories when I was a child. One of the main characters, a boy named Sam, finds a swan’s nest while he is camping with his father in Canada. He convinced his dad to bring him back 63 days later, just in time to see the eggs hatch.

I wanted to be Sam, to be there 63 days later, and see the cygnets hatch. I checked on that nest without fail every day until I left Ireland. Unfortunately, the eggs hadn’t hatched by then. Ah well, next time.

Much as I loved living in the B & B, I knew I had to get an apartment, or flat, fairly quickly. My study abroad program didn’t prearrange housing. My advice to you is, if you can get housing in advance, DO IT. It doesn’t matter if it’s student housing and you’re sharing a room— you’ll only be there for a few months. I spent an entire month living in a B&B room and eating out while trying to find a place to stay. The headache is not worth it. 

If you’re not fortunate enough to have prearranged housing, pick up the local newspaper as soon as possible and check the “For Rent” ads. Keep your schedule clear so that you can go see the property at the owner’s convenience, and wear nice clothing. While I was in Galway, the market for housing favored the landlord.

But make sure you’re not so worried about housing and school that you forget to have fun. Get a life; you’ll never regret it. Here’s a tip — pubs are the heart of Irish social life. You don’t ask some one if they want to “hang out”— you ask them to go out for a pint. There were at least ten pubs within a mile radius of my flat alone. 

My second night in Ireland, two of my new friends, Donna and Megan, took me out to The Quays pub. Since I was twenty at the time, it was my first time (legally) in a bar. They introduced me to Red Bull and vodka, a popular mixed drink in Ireland. 

My friends and I usually went out every weekend night. For me, that was Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. I discovered that I don’t like the way beer tastes. Guinness, among others, is too bitter for me. I prefer hard ciders, like Bulmers. I also enjoyed Ritz’s, a perrier made from (what else?) pears, and Bailey’s. 

Irish pubs are a completely different breed of animal than American bars. The ones I went to were generally huge, brightly lit, and packed with happy, relaxed people. Usually there’s a live band playing traditional Irish music. No depressed drunks here. 

But there’s tons of other stuff to do besides drinking, so don’t miss out. Next issue, I’ll be writing about my trips to other cities in Ireland, and my red-hot romance with an Irish boy.

Caitlin Moriarity is a freelance editor and writer who has been hooked on travel since a semester studying abroad in college. You can read her other travel writing at www.tropeofirony.com.