home

I could go on about my trip to the highlands this past week. I could spend a good portion of my Sunday describing every last detail of the driving through the three sisters of Glencoe or even sharing a bus ride home with three older woman who shared with me stories of their lives, political views, and their secret stowaway of gin and whiskey on the bus (completely against the law, but that didn't stop us from drinking the whole 2 hour bus ride). That's all quite trivial while I sit here and type my final post from my chair in the Uni's cafe. *I should definitely have a plaque put on a seat here. I come a good majority of days to get my caffeine fix and a break from my prison-like room on the 5th floor (What would be considered the 4th floor in the USA) of Geddes Court.* If you care to know about those travels, take the time to contact me in person. What fun would it be if I get back and have no stories to tell since I've written them all down here? My time in Stirling - and for that matter the United Kingdom - is only days from ending. Am I sad? Not quite. Am I happy? I wouldn't say that either. I'm a bit un-phased at the moment: an emotion I've learned to cultivate throughout my college years. 

You see, since deciding to live a life in show business I have had to accept endings as a necessity. It's not always easy, but with each show I have had the opportunity to work on has come the end. Spending months with only a select group of people and then suddenly picking up my things and moving to the next activity. Is it at times difficult to swallow? Without question. But we move on. We must. For if we fight reality and try to stay behind we will only be confronted with worse pain later. 

There is an acquaintance of mine in Stirling who has also kept a blog of her times here. I only bothered myself with reading her last post, as she is an emotionally driven person. There's nothing wrong with this, but it makes for quite plain reading. Maybe I'm just too critical. Her last post was one where she talked about the definition of home and how Scotland has become, in a large part, her home. For me Scotland isn't quite so. It has been more of an extended vacation. I love this country and the friends I have made during my time here, don't get me wrong. However, I look at home as more than a mountain's side or some rabbit and duck's playground. My home is located at 422 Gill Avenue. As unfortunate as this sounds (let's face it, Galion isn't the thriving metropolis I've always wished it would be. It's far too dry, dull, and conservative for my personal taste), it's where I grew up. It's where my siblings and I slid down slides with pieces of wax paper to make us go faster up until my mother rang a bell to let us know it was dinner time (No joke). It's where my brother Kaleb and I swatted hundreds of bumblebees with tennis rackets in our side yard until smashing a window to our basement. It's where I have taken the three loves of my life (Chloe, Doris, and Tilly) on countless walks around the block or the nearby YMCA only to pretend I didn't see them defecating on the grass to avoid picking it up (In my defense, it's so small. Who cares!). It's where I could walk or rollerblade to both my grandparents' houses whether to follow a trail of pennies to the Weibl side or to drink some soda at without having to ask parental permission at my other grandmother's side. It's home.

In three days I will be back home, though not for long. I can only take it in doses but am looking forward to the rejuvenation before heading off to the quaint town of Weston, Vermont to start summer work. I'm excited. I get to work with super amazing, talented people. CLICK HERE for an article about the show I'll be working on first. 

All this talk of home is not to overshadow my travels abroad. It has been the single best decision of my life to do so. I got to escape the drain and jaded personalities of my Baldwin Wallace University colleagues  for an entire semester (I love them all to death, but I needed to be away). But most importantly, I've gotten to learn. Not from a book, standardized testing, or by simply being told or instructed. I got to learn on my own. At my own pace and through a clear head not disturbed by the distractions of a phone, academic pressure, or feeling the need to always be on time and responsible. It's wonderful breaking those qualities I am grateful for, but I am also relieved to have ignored them for a couple of months. I took chances in Scotland that I've never allowed myself back home, and that has been the most honest and complete feeling. I hiked up Britain's tallest mountain with few mountain climbing skills and only the endurance gained from my daily runs. I wanted so badly to give up after hitting the snow towards the peak and I thought to myself that I would never be able to make it up. I was cold. I was alone, and no one would have known whether I made it to the top or not. It would have stuck with me forever though. So I continued to climb. I pushed my emotional and physical barriers to the side and kept hiking. Opening my eyes and mind to the rest of the world was also an important lesson for me to learn. I have said it before on this blog that coming from The United States, we're very lucky. Privileged isn't necessarily the word to cover all the people in the country. Lucky, I would argue, is. 

After my Documentary exam tomorrow morning at 9AM (I haven't studied yet. That's what happens when exams last an entire month) I will officially be a senior in college. Wow. It still hasn't hit me. Only one year left to go until I'm thrown into the real world. Who knows where I'll end up or what I'll end up doing with my life, but I'm sure it is to be an adventure regardless. One more chapter of my life is over, and it's on to the next. While on that topic though, I'd love to say that this blog has me believing that I could write a book if I wanted to. Believe it or not, there's always a great deal more I could add to these posts in both detail and content that I haven't quite done. Not sure why I bother typing that. Maybe a inner part of me that argues if I put the idea out there it will stick with me and be more likely to happen. 

Before ending I have to thank certain people. I won't do this in a list as to exclude anyone, but for every email, package, postcard, skype call, or comment on the blog I couldn't thank you enough. I have found each form of communication a great pleasure to consume and a convenient small piece of the United States, a country I'm excited to be returning to and to try to change for the better. While this may seem like the optimist's silly goal for life, I've been told over and over that while changing the world is frustrating, disappointing, and unlikely, what we can do is change our own corner of the world. It's that simple.

We are the change we seek.
       -Barack Obama

the highlands

I would like to preface this post by saying these are not my favorite pictures from my travels to the Scottish Highlands. The camera I am using does have a panoramic setting, which is what I used to take these photographs. However, the quality is often less than ideal and the photos lack a vibrancy that nature so readily provides. That being said, enjoy! 

My first panorama. This is about 30 minutes up Glen Nevis.

A bit further up, about 45 minutes in.

Here I was about an hour into my hike. It was sweating so much and thought I was much closer to the peak than I actually was. 

Ah... This is where the pretty path ends. From here on out it was less stable hiking... and snow.

I was still sweating as I entered the clouds surrounding the mountain's peak. However, I could still see people for a bit ahead of me, and the snow was minimal. 2 hours in.

This is close to the top of the mountain. The depth of snow isn't shown well here. Roughly two and a half feet of snow. Most packed down, but it was melting, so my feet still went well into the snow.

This is on the way back down. The waterfall was originally clear on the way up. Around 6:30PM, when I reached this point, the clouds had descended more on the mountain.

Scotland.

Ben Nevis, The U.K.'s tallest mountain, is about 3 miles from the loch and Fort William, where this picture was taken.

The camera kinda messed this photo up, but while I was waiting for my bus on Tuesday morning, I saw this familiar train waiting to depart. It's the actual train used for the Harry Potter series. Funny story... This train runs over the Glenfinnan aqueduct, which is a familiar sight in most of the films. However, the train 'departs' from King's Cross in London. This train runs only one course... none of which passes through England. Sorry for ruining the movie magic.

This was a town in the Isle of Skye called Portree. I only stayed there three hours. I had a weird feeling about it so I hopped on another bus and headed south.

While in Portree I took a walk through the pine forests. They are everywhere in Scotland!

Sadly, deforestation is occurring everywhere. It was so sad to see the number of mountainsides that were left destroyed from the process.

After leaving Portree I headed to Kyleakin. A much more beautiful town that was peaceful and home to my favorite picture from my trip (to be seen on Sunday).

This was taken at the bridge in Kyleakin. To the right is the small town!

The bridge.

The mountains in the background are barely visible, but this was a gorgeous sight in the afternoon.

I woke up at 6:00AM to be greeted by this. Also... this was the one day they called for rain. Shows you how predictable the weather is. 

Oban - The gateway to the Scottish islands.

Again, these are hardly the most attractive pictures of Scotland that I took. I was more concerned with a running theme than presentation today, so these are what got posted. 

Off now to 'study' for my last exam.

jakob weibl

If I had a dollar pound for every time my name was misspelled it's quite likely I would be living a very different life. It's been a rough road. Really rough. And while a slight disappointment slaps me across the face each time a close friend, family member (It happens more than you'd imagine), or collaborator (No joke. The one person I work professionally with the most still sends me emails that say "Jacob") writes my name incorrectly. I could always blame my parents. That would be the easiest way out. The reason I don't do this is because I am in love with my name. It's a narcissism that runs through me each time I see it written. Most of my readers should know already that I am named after my great grandfather, Jakob Weibl. Fortunately his surname stuck as well and is now my middle name, one I hope to carry on to my own children one day (that's right, siblings. I'm claiming it here and now. And there's no disputing it because it's in writing with a date stamped at the top of the post). The brilliance of my name doesn't stop at my great grandfather. While most will forget to spell my name correctly, it's likely they will at least remember my name. I guarantee this by introducing myself as Jakob... with a K. I know what you're thinking and believe me I've thought about it long and hard too. One day I'll also be able to have a one-man show by my name. Just like Liza... with a Z. Does any of this have anything to do with Scotland? I'll get to that. Let me first rewind.

Friday was my very first exam/final. I wasn't quite too sure what to expect, given that the hype over exams is so much greater here. While preparing I had convinced myself that this is because most students at Stirling Uni don't attend lectures. By skipping they don't really learn what the class has to offer (Note: Several classes have little to offer. Experimental Cinema was not one of these classes. Lectures were fascinating and very informative). Most of my studying occurred the two days before the exam and consisted of watching Bruce Conners' A Movie, Tracey Moffatt's Others, and Margaret Tait's Portrait of Ga. None of these films are very lengthy and are all well worth the twenty minutes it would take to watch all three. If you only check one out, watch Others! It's the most fascinating film that explores the sexuality of film and television through different races. You'll notice a fair number of well-known scenes including snippets from The English Patient, The King & I, Dexter, and Sex & The City. This studying involved some analysis as well but the great thing about experimental cinema is that there is never a wrong answer. As long as you make connection and look at the films from unique perspectives then you're set. 

Thursday night comes and just as it is when there's a big event right around the corner, I was unable to sleep. I set my alarm for 7:30 to give me plenty of time for the 9AM start time for the exam. I wake, shower, and start making a breakfast of eggs, toast with jam, and a glass of orange juice. As I'm cooking the eggs in walks a floor-mate who doesn't sleep at night. This is normally due to his recreational use of.... Aunt Mary, Bamma, Grass, Juanita, or whatever you care to call it. (Disclaimer: I don't know these names from earned street cred. I Googled it all.) Anyway, he walks into the kitchen, looks at me (mind you I'm dressed nicely with a salmon button-up, dress jeans, and fashionable boots) and asks, "You OK, man?" "Yes I'm okay. Why?"  "Well did you not get sleep?"  "Yes I slept just fine. Why?"  "You just don't look too good, man."  Can you believe the nerve? I mean, I felt great, I thought I looked good too, but I guess that wasn't so. I'll take 8 o'clock insults for $500, Alex.

As I walk to the exam it's a gorgeous morning. The sun is shining and there's only a slight breeze as I cross the bridge of hell (This 50 meter bridge is, most days, no different than walking on hot coals. It's a brutal b**ch-slap from Mother Nature each trip whether it be rain, wind, or snow). I get to the exam, walk into the large lecture hall and am greeted by a haunting memory. At each seat three yellow exam booklets and a sheet of paper asking for personal information sat in perfect order ready for the mass number of students that would be taking the exam. It was like standardized testing in elementary school or the awful ACT of high school years. The only difference is that there were no mints. I guess they think us university students don't need the pep up like we once used to. 
When the exam started there were over 60 people in the room. I had never seen more than 40 in lectures or seminars, which goes to show how epidemic the act of skipping class is here in Scotland. Overall, the exam went well. I felt quite good about it and finished with about 2 or 3 minutes to spare. I won't bore you with details about what I wrote. 

After the exam I had agreed to grab coffee with two friends who were also in the class. I'm not sure I've ever mentioned them by name: Erin (New York) and Agnes (Denmark. Ironically the one that gave me that terrible 'candy' on my first ride to the University!) We go to the trusty-dusty Starbucks at the Uni and talk for over an hour and a half about a range of topics from what dogs we want to have when we grow up (a husky for me) to media presentation and how we prefer to travel. The conversation was quite nice, given the both of them are similar to me: independent and intellectual (That's not meant as boasting. There's just a clear difference from those who would prefer to talk only about the concrete and those who wonder into intellectual debate). We sat in the sun sipping out our iced lattes and watching bunnies hop by the patio where we had sat outside. I was starting to get hungry and had no major plans for the day so I asked the two if they would possibly be interested in walking to Bridge of Allen (15 minute walk East of Campus. Opposite direction of town) to find a place to eat lunch. Neither of them had plans so they agreed and off we traveled to what would become one of my best Scottish days. 

When we walked into the quint town made up of stores covering only a six block stretch of one street we found a restaurant that was bustling with locals, many of whom where sitting in the outdoor seating under the sun. It was about 65 degrees on Friday, but for Scotland that's GOLD. Shorts and short-sleeved shirts all around. Since there were so many people and one visible table still outside we agreed to stay there. A busy business means they must be doing something right! I ordered a glass of wine to celebrate the end of the exam, and it was so relieving. After months of 3P or 4P wine I was glad to have a real glass. The entree I ordered was a salmon and crayfish sandwich with a side of salad (not the same kind of salad you'd get in the US. It's several pieces of pretentious lettuce sprinkled lightly with balsamic vinegar and little oat-shapped object that I have no idea what to call) and chips (fries). The whole meal was simply divine and the presentation on wooden plates with the canopy of the restaurant taken back to allow the sun to reach all the customers made for a successful post-exam treat. There were also several dogs sitting faithfully by their owners, which is always a plus!

The restaurant was only steps away from the brewery that I had gone to the Sunday before and so I asked Erin and Agnes if they would be interested in checking out. They had heard a lot about it but had never ventured there, so we went. I had had a glass of wine so I wasn't going to get a pint (it was only 2!) but I was willing to taste test. The others both got the raspberry cider, which had the consistency of a smoothie given the raspberry pulp that remained in the cider. We sat in a back corner and continued talking about everything imaginable for over an hour. At some point during that hour three Scottish men had come into the brewery and had sat at a table catty-corner from us. We were within earshot of one another, so it's no surprise that our accents had given us away. It's always a conversation starter, so the three men began talking to us. They had thought we were all from The United States, given Agnes's accent is unnoticeably different from mine or Erin's. She had lived for several years in California as a child, so she picked up not only flawless English but the accent as well. The three Scottish men were remarkably friendly and were quite interested to hear all about our studies and future plans. They were, I would guess, all in the 50's, which made this next part even more spectacular. The three of them insisted that they buy us each a pint so we would speak highly of Scotland when we got back to our home countries. We argued that we would have spoken highly of the country (ir)regardless of the drinks, but as my Grandma Plummer would have said... never say no to a drink! I'm not quite sure how to tactfully say this next part but there was a surprising amount of flirting going on. Three of them. Three of us. And yes... Erin, Agnes, and I were all the recipients of middle-aged flirting. We couldn't stop laughing. As awkward as the situation sounds, the three of them were like the Three Stooges, so naturally we were in hysterics with the whole charade. We went back to talking to our own groups and then suddenly we find ourselves each with another pint of raspberry cider in front of us. 

> Here's where my name comes back into play. I've used Jakob Weibl as my alias here to make me feel like I fit in a bit more. It's European, and it starts conversation. I've used it as my Facebook name, and most papers I've written. When I told the men my name though, they brought to my attention one of the greatest concerns of an individual in theatre. Theatre, especially New York musical theatre, has been founded on the progressiveness and genius Jews. Jakob Weibl is as far from a Jewish name as it gets. Let me spell it with a list of Jewish music theatre individuals with their jewish names: Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, Gershwin, Richard Rodgers, Oscar Hammerstein II, Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim, Stephen Schwartz, Jule Styne, Zero Mostel, Betty Comden, Adolph Green, Barbra Streisand, Joel Grey, Danny Kaye, Ethel Merman, Kristin Chenoweth, Idina Menzel, Arthur Laurents, Harold Prince.
The point is, Broadways filled with them. These men had a point. I'm going to need an Actor's Equity name that is a bit more Jewish. I was thinking Yentl. I'll still need a surname though. Any suggestions in the comment section would be greatly appreciated.

By the time we left it was 6:30PM and the sun was still shining. We weren't drunk by any means but we sure loved life! As we walked back to campus with the sun still high in the sky we laughed and shared some more stories all while still slightly shocked over what had just happened. We agreed to hang out again before possibly not seeing each other again. So, shortly after finishing this post I'm off to town to play Eucre with them and another flat-mate followed by the film, Waiting for Guffman. 


Before yesterday I had never heard the word Eurovision. Maybe I had heard it, but I had no idea what it was. Maybe you've heard of it and maybe you haven't. It's a live TV broadcast throughout all of Europe (except Turkey because of some racy female kissing at the end of one performance) that showcases vocal talent (along with costumes and general WOW performance features) from each country that wishes to participate. For some time leading up to the competition, each country holds their own vocal showcase program to select their finalist. Only 24 finalists get to compete (commercial free) on the broadcast. Since many of my friends are from Europe we all went to the University bar and watched. It's a BIG deal. There was barely a place to sit, and the cheering for home countries was magical. Some of it is a joke to be honest. The costumes are as garish as could be and they try hard to go for the visual element to cover up poor singing. After they all perform there is the vote counting. You're to call the number on the screen for the country you are currently in with the vote of the country you wish to win. So the results are shown one country at a time, dedicating a certain number of points for that particular country's favorite performances. This also stops countries from voting for themselves, which is prohibited. Denmark ended up winning (I called it right after she performed. It was brilliant). I'll likely never watch or follow it again, but to have gotten to watch a yearly tradition of Europe was well worth it. 

Well folks... it's that time. Not only for me to wrap this post up but to give advanced warning that there's not much more to come. I'm off to the highlands in the morning with no connection to the outside world. I'm going without a phone, a computer, or an iPod. Only me, some clothes, some money, and my camera. Who knows where I'll end up. Who cares? I'll be back on Wednesday night and may post on Thursday or Friday. No guarantee. After that, it's next week's post to finish off my journey in Scotland. It's a bit surreal that I've been here for three and a half months and only have 10 days left, but all things must come to an end, only to bring about life's next great adventure. 

As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical pate, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.
                       - Henry David Thoreau 

dorian gray

"The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn." 


Let me simplify.

 
The studio smelled strongly of roses and one could smell the lilac from brought in through the door by the summer breeze.


You see I have taken a beautifully constructed sentence from Oscar Wilde's only published novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and have condensed it to a far less illustrated statement. This is the crime of which The University of Stirling is most guilty. I am by NO means Oscar Wilde. However, I do have my writing style - as all do - and it has been subjected to the marking of generic and blasé expectations. 

*Side note: I chose this as an example not for the reason some of you would expect (its underlying themes) but rather because I didn't appreciate it for much when I was forced to read it my senior year. I remember verbalizing to my teacher my confusion for such lengthy sentences, but now I see how specific and necessary it was for the novel.*

As I was reading over the extensive list of comments for my documentary essay I found myself defending each attack of my paper. It's natural to do so I think because I spent a great deal of time on it. After reading the comments (some constructive, some juvenilely overcritical. *He commented on my word count being 2504 words saying the limit was 2500. In my defense I subtracted my citations, which were about 43 words in total putting me under the limit*) But as I sit once again in the Starbucks cafe on a sunny day (it rained earlier. On my run. Just my luck) I'm reminded, when discussing this essay, of the ever-catchy duet by Donna Summers and Barbra Streisand (only the last 11 seconds). "Enough is enough is enough is enough is enough is enough is enough (no more teeeearssss) is enough is ENOUGH. I've had enough with the class, so I'll cease my complaining. 


>When I make my blog posts it's normally a cultivation of work over two or three days. The paragraph that you just read was written yesterday, Tuesday, and was a bit of a spiteful commentary. I had written close to 500 words after that, but after sleeping on it (figuratively) I came to the conclusion that it all needed to go. It was too depressing and filled with drama, which is completely unnecessary. If you want that, stop reading and turn on a soap opera. This paragraph, however, is being written today and is from a fresh, new perspective (though I'm still a bit pissed about the grade/comments). I woke up this morning with a mere two weeks left to my time in Stirling. While I'm trying to convince myself that these two weeks should be spent with a endless longing to stay in Stirling, I'm ready to come back. Actually, I'm ready to go on my Scottish adventure and then come home come back to the US. I'm sure I'll miss Scotland terribly once I'm back, but my life is driven by the desire to keep moving. Once I am back I will get to keep moving. Plus, I'll get to see my dogs :)


One week ago (last Tuesday actually) it was sunny and 60 degrees in Stirling. You should have seen the monkeys around here! For the entire day the campus was basically shut down to promote what can only be described as a Scottish sun-funday. There was drinking, football, tree climbing, barbecuing, smoking, snacking, people-watching, running, kayaking, more drinking, Tom foolery (Ever wonder what where that phrase comes from?), reading, sunbathing, card-playing, drinking, littering, swan feeding, pigeon-poop avoiding, drinking.... you get my drift. I had some errands to run that day, so I went to town early and only decided to grab a blanket, carrots, an apple, an iced-Smirnoff, and floor-mates upon my return (around 5PM. The sun sets around 9:40PM here so we still had plenty of time). It was a zoo out by the lake. Hundreds of college students partying outside as if it only happened once in a blue moon (but seriously. It doesn't happen often here). Palmi, Tina, and I (Barbara joined a bit later) sat and soaked up the sun for the rest of the afternoon. It was one of my more memorable evenings here on campus, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. 


I also had the opportunity this week to go to a brewery only one town over from the uni. It's within walking distance, which is nice, and is hidden not only be operating hours that aren't too kind to college students (noon-5PM) but also by buildings that block it's view. So down an alley we went and through a cobblestone entrance with unconvincing signs pointing the way to this establishment. We find it and enter to see only the bartender and to customers who have obviously been chatting (and drinking) with one another for quite some time. The brewery was magical and reminded me of the witch's cabin of trinkets in the film Brave. Along the walls were bottles and bottles of beer made in the brewery as well as various oddities such as worn Scottish flags, family crests, and pictures (old and new) of Scotland. The beer sampling was free (the sample was approximately 1/2 cup of beer) and with ten different beers to sample (and let's not forget the raspberry cider and regular cider). So, just after the sampling I was already in a calmer, more relaxed state. I ended up going with the chili beer, which was my favorite from the samples. The other four from our floor that had come along couldn't understand how I could drink an entire pint of it. It burned a bit, but was the most unlike beer. Since I'm not a beer person at all, it was most appropriate for me without going the 'cider' route - something Scots will judge you for. It's not very manly. You may as well be wearing a badge declaring you're not from Scotland. It is, however, four percent greater on the alcohol content, which counteracts the 'manliness' stereotype.


The evening lasted several hours and sparked interesting debate with the two customers who were already there upon our arrival. They were both from Hawaii and were remarkably liberal. 
The discussion was mainly political, which was fascinating hearing from all different sides of the world. The places represented were Washington (state), Ohio, Hawaii, France, Brazil, and England. We talked about the factory disasters in Bangladesh and the Catch 22 that arises from the situation. Do you no longer buy clothes made in Bangladesh because of the terrible working condition? If so, then you're promoting the collapse of  their government, given its economy is structured around the clothing industry. We hear so much about not buying clothing made in China. Is this something branded into our minds because he USA fears the growth of formidable opponent in the world's economic structure? Because guess what. China pays the equivalent of $1.26 per hour. That's pretty impressive comparatively to the $.24 in Bangladesh, $.45 in Cambodia, $.52 in Pakistan, and $.53 in Vietnam. But enough of that. I only bring it up to remind us all (including myself) how fortunate we are to be from the United States - a country that is viewed by most of the world as a promise land. Sure, we aren't without our problems, but in comparison think of it as contrasting Meryl Streep's (United States) work with that of Kristen Stewart or Lindsay Lohan (3rd world countries). Sure, Meryl's had her bad points (Save yourselves and don't bother watching Hope Springs) but it's nothing to Lohan's reputation (Poor thing. It's a shame she's such a spectacle for our society. What has she contributed other than The Parent Trap and Mean Girls?)  I know that analogy seems rather material, but I think it got the point across :)


Well, I have an exam on Friday which I have yet to study. They call it 'revision' here, which threw me for a loop. Revision for me suggests taking previous work, fixing the mistakes, and re-submitting it for a better mark. They laughed at me when I asked if that's what it was. Here you 'revisit' all the past material for the upcoming exam. Here's how I see it though. I need to only pass my courses. I got a 2B (B+) on my essay and passing is a 3C (C-). That means with my essay I only need a 4 (D) and the average will allow me to pass. What a fortunate position to be in! I can get a D without attending the class! If there's one thing I've learned from the grading here, I'll do best by using simple sentence structures. I'd hate to over-complicate. Here is what I'm thinking I'll start with; 

 "I like experimental cinema. Sometimes it is very confusing. I do not mind. I like a challenge. My favorite experimental film has been A Movie. I liked this film because it had the piece 'Pines of Rome' playing in the background." If all this commentary was suggesting something, I think this is it! I'm Golden!!!!


One last thing. A joke before I go. (Oh and I hope the picture I'm posting isn't a repeat. I'm a bit too lazy to go through and check if it is)


Starbucks was talking with the Pope and offered to give a $500 million donation to the church if it were to change "Give us this day our daily bread" to "Give us this day our daily coffee." The Pope considered for quite some time and after making his decision went to his cardinals. "I've got some good news and some bad news" the Pope said. "We just got a $500 million donation from Starbuck!"    "This is great" the cardinals all agreed. "What's the bad news, though?"  The Pope paused, looked to the floor in disappointment and replied, "Oh... we lost the Wonder Bread account."

I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.
- Carl Sandburg

sunday post

As Vernon Dursley of the Harry Potter franchise claimed in the first adventure of the boy wizard:

VERNON: "Fine day Sunday. In my opinion, best day of the week. Why is that?" 
HARRY: "Because there's no post on Sundays?"
VERNON: "Right you are, Harry. No post on Sundays. Hah!"

So.... no post this Sunday (Well technically this is a post. You got me!). Instead, call your mother, wish her the HAPPIEST of HAPPY MOTHERS' DAYS and do something meaningful with your life. Talk to a stranger. Hug somebody you love. Pick some flowers and take them to a neighbor or local nursing home. 

And to my very special mother, Happy Mothers' Day. Words in a blog are unable to express how much I love you and miss you. Sorry I'm so far away. To my grandmother who I adore and admire endlessly... Happy Mothers' Day. And to my other grandmother... I'm sure she knows I still think of her. Happy Mothers' Day to you too. 

-J

All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.
                    -Abraham Lincoln

*check back Wednesday for this week's post. 

seven cows

I’m a strong believer in astrological readings, horoscopes, and anything that relates to the sort. So, as I apprehensively pulled myself out of my terribly uncomfortable mattress and decided whether or not to go running I decided I would find the answer in today’s horoscope. (Note: I only do this when I’m on the edge of my decision. Yesterday, for example, my horoscope suggested a surplus of mental energy. Mental, in my book, is no relation to physical energy, so I didn’t go running. I’d also like to plead that I don’t let my horoscope run my life. That would be quite a quixotic application. I look at it more as a strengthening or cultivation of energy that is already present. I know I know… “What a bunch of bulls**t” Let’s agree to disagree. You say ‘Potato,’ I say ‘Merlot.’) Today my horoscope read, “You are sure to find that things are less scary and more interesting than you would have guessed, and your great energy helps you sort it out.” So, running I would go. And not only would I run, I would run a new, adventurous path never explored before on my runs. I would, at the bottom of a hill approximately 2Km into my run, turn left instead of right. GASP!!!! 

As I began my run I was happier than I have been starting my runs lately. There was barely a breeze and the warm 60 degrees was an appreciated change from the cooler weather we’ve had. The sky was (and still is) completely covered with what looks like a blanket of kind clouds. The ones that won’t bother raining but will continue to block the sun for the day (and likely the whole week). When I turned left at the base of the hill I ran alongside the large mountain that I have climbed two times now and am amazed by every day. This run would take me along the entire base of the mountain and into a town about 6Km away (I leave it in Km because that’s what the signs are in. So, that’s how I report it. Plus, it’s good to get everybody’s brain flowing to figure out the conversion). Along the base all that can be seen is a very steep edge of the mountain cluttered with half-shaven sheep (It’s that time of year!). As I kept running I ran across what I have been waiting to see in person since arriving in Scotland. Low and behold in a field filled with more sheep and all the baby lambs you’d ever need to sing my favorite Broadway lullaby, LITTLE LAMB, were seven Highland Cows. These cows are unlike any others due to their hair (most notably their stylish bangs. Just to set the record straight, these cows had bangs long before our First Lady). They're rather adorable and are the only cows I have seen that look like good cuddle-buddies despite their horns. I will take some pictures in the coming week to share. Now... onto a more relevant matter.

The 2B mark on a paper is equivalent to a B+ in the United States grading system (why grading systems aren't universal by any means is beyond me). Most students would be thrilled with a B+ on their first assignment in a foreign country. I mean, my grade doesn't transfer back so I needn't worry about it harming my GPA, but the mark still bothers me. I was perfectly fine with it when I saw it plastered to a Excel sheet compared to some of the other grades, but after picking up the actual grading sheet yesterday, I sunk to a rather irritated state regarding some of the commentary and critique of my academic work. The comments on my comment sheet read as follows; "I admire that you are tackling some rather complex concepts head on and are incorporating some of the more challenging readings into your own analysis. It's great that you demonstrate such original and independent thinking!" So, to the average person (average being a gross generalization. I would imagine most people can understand where I'm about to go with this) these comments regarding my writing of complex concepts would suggest that the writing and reasoning would be a bit more complex than simpler readings or such. For example, a paper about  the book "See Jack Run" is going to be far less complex as a analysis of experimental film. Regardless, I was marked down to promote a more simple writing style. Scratch the word style. Why the hell is called style if a professor would prefer it stay consistent with every other monotonous essay. Lastly on the subject, I strongly believe that whatever categories are used for the grading sheet should be assessed individually rather than fitting a pre-determined grade. To explain, there is a grade breakdown that asks about 'Spelling.' Not a word on my essay was misspelled (I actually proofread my official assignments unlike this blog!) So why in the name of the Olsen twins did I get a 'Very Good' mark instead of an 'Excellent' mark? How irritated I am over the matter. I will, however, leave it be and not contest the mark while I'm abroad. Back home would be a different story. I would be sure to talk with the professor and request a re-evaluation of my work.

So that's about all I have for today's post. I'm a bit blogged down (get it? Haha.) over this past week's posts. But before I go, I have exciting news. I'm currently in the process of planning out my last traveling adventure. This time I will travel alone to the north. I have been getting advice from local Scots about the best cities to visit. I'm most excited about the possibilities of this trip.

What makes a river so restful to people is that it doesn't have any doubt -
it is sure to get where it is going, and it doesn't want to go anywhere else.
                                                -Hal Boyle

going solo

       First and foremost... it's a true miracle that I've stuck to my initial promise of posting on parts two and three on Wednesday and Friday, respectfully. Most people could sit down for their afternoon soap opera, eat lunch, and start on dinner all in the same time it takes me to type this. While it may not seem complex or very intellectually formed, I get distracted easily. Already I have stopped my typing to watch a film (I'm not kidding. I started with a later paragraph and thought screw it. So, I watched Elizabeth starring Cate Blanchett. Pretty good if you've never seen it) Even in my scatter-brained writing you're probably able to tell that I jump from one thought to the next like Speedy Gonzales in the Looney Toons cartoons that yells, "¡Ándele! ¡Ándele! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba! ¡Epa! ¡Epa! ¡Epa! Yeehaw!"
See. There I go again, getting sidetracked with trivial banter. 

      So on Friday night I made the announcements to my three traveling mates that I would not be joining them the following day. I wanted needed to be alone for a day and explore without what felt like three talking shadows behind me (the Peter Pan type of shadows that can get pretty bothersome). I told them it was because I didn't want to do the same things, which is very much true, but I also just could not bare to see museum after museum. Before leaving for Dublin I had randomly chosen a card from my sister Meg (she packed a bunch of quotes I was to pick at random) that read, "The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see (G.K. Chesterton)." I wanted this to be my Saturday in Dublin, and so I made it the motto of my Saturday in Dublin. I woke up early in the morning, got dressed  in jeans and a burnt orange jacket that I had snatched for only 9€ the day before and headed out. The four of us had a plan to meet back up at 7:30 at Temple Bar to have drinks, but until that time I was free. 
      I had no plans for the day and didn't much care where I ended up. So, I headed down the streets of Dublin toward St. Stephen's Green. It was early enough that the stores had not yet opened and the tourists were not yet standing aimlessly in the midst of the moving. It was yet another crisp morning, with no clouds in the sky and the sun shining through the trees of St. Stephens as if it was begging for an instagrammed photo. My travels through the garden where quite magical and while I would have loved to share a photo of the gardens I was unable to because of my dead camera. The plethora of yellow daisies surrounded each fountain that trickled water over thousands of wishes seen at the bottom in the form of coins. Wishes from around the world. Wishes more accurately defined as hope. I reached into my pocket to pull out a penny (the Euro 1 Cent is SO SMALL. Smaller than a dime. About the size of a sequin) to use as my wish. After leaving my wish to sit at the bottom of fountain I headed through the remainder of the gardens, filled with indescribable, serene beauty. As I exited the park at its opposite end I headed down a random street, which led me to another garden entrance. This garden was for St. Patrick's Cathedral. No quite as lush as St. Stephens but certainly not dismissible either, I wondered down the steps to explore the gardens (I even saw a sign from the early 1900's that declared not handling your dog's defecation properly will result in a 1000€ and the requirement that all dogs of the same breed be henceforth muzzled in the garden). As I walked around the Cathedral I decided to go in and explore. Passing up Westminster has been something that I haven't forgiven myself for, so I preferred to not have the same guilty conscious as I did in London. I forked up the 4.5€ student price and took myself on a self-guided tour around the massive Cathedral. I took my time and read most of the information plates. Most interesting to me was the Door of Reconciliation on display. The door is said to be the origin of the phrase "Chancing your arm." I stayed at the Cathedral for a significant amount of time because I wanted to listen to one of the spoken Holy Eucharists, which to me turned out to be a disappointment because of all those who felt it necessary to be taking pictures and chatting instead of listening and reflecting. 
       After the Cathedral I decided to hop on a bus (I had bought a three day pass the first day that was unlimited). The bus's final stop had the word castle, so I felt it was a safe bet. I was wrong. Out of the city limits the bus went and into a more rural area. After 25 minutes on the bus I began talking to a lady (she was a bit coo-coo) who almost lit a cigarette on the bus then started talking to herself after realizing what she was about to do was illegal. She asked where I was from in "America," after just hearing me speak. After I told her what I was up to she told me that the 'castle' at the last stop was actually still a 40 minute walk from the stop. So, she suggested I get out at one of the next stops and explore that area. She cautioned, however, not to stray from the main road because she said it could likely be unsafe. Off the bus I went and walked around a bit before ultimately jumping on a bus that headed back into the city. By this point I was quite hungry and decided to stop in a small sandwich shop for a humous and pepper pita lunch. I didn't care to eat inside (most places charge an extra Euro to dine in), so I took my sandwich to go and headed towards Phoenix Park. While only a small corner of this park appeared on my map, I had a feeling it would be a great place to sit and eat lunch. It fortunately turned into much more. I wouldn't end up leaving the park for five hours. 
        Phoenix Park is extremely large and to cover most of it in one day would be murder. As I walked in at the southern entrance located on the edge of urbanized Dublin, I spotted a hill overlooking a small pond. The perfect place to eat lunch. I sat in the breeze and watched bikers ride by on their rented wheels and stroller after stroller pass. There was also a dog that decided to jump into the pond to chase the swan that was swimming unexpectedly near the water's edge. If I had had a book, I would have stayed to bask in the sun, but there was more to see, so I stood up and traveled further into the park. I saw a path that stretched rather far and was similar to that of the National Mall only the middle area was  not grass but pavement for the few cars traveling to the Dublin Zoo. As I was walking there was a field of sorts to my left that was playing host to some game. I walked up to watch a bit because from afar the game seemed quite foreign. This didn't change when I got closer. All the players were dressed in white and were playing what I soon discovered was cricket. To the untrained eye it seems like a rather pretentious version of baseball. I continued my walking for close to a mile when I came along a site comparable to the Cliffs the day before. The Papal Cross in Phoenix Park can be seen from almost anywhere in the park because of its extreme height. I headed in the direction of the monument/memorial to see what exactly it was. Now, I must admit here that I regard religion with much caution. I consider myself more spiritual than religious. It's an odd feeling to try and describe, but as I approached this 116-foot monument, I felt, like I have many times on my travels, a strong connection with humanity. As I read the plaque located at the base, it stated that the monument was erected in 1979 for a visit from Pope John Paul II. Past the cross was an empty field where millions stood during his visit to listen to his mass. It was very surreal to stand at what seems like the edge of the world (for the cross, the edge of mental existence and for the Cliffs the edge of physical existence). 
      After leaving I traveled on what seemed like a less-traveled path to a small building with a large, steel gate that was creating a separation from the park to an even nicer gardened area that was clearly private property. I was curious as to what this was, and after looking around I noticed a minimalistic seal atop the gate that read "The Embassy of The United States of America." Well... you know what they say. Location, location, location. We sure have a nice plot of land in Phoenix Park. So don't worry, tax payers. While some of our cities in the States may be dilapidated and helpless, trust that our plots of land in other countries are gorgeous and well-kept! 
     *I'm about to fall asleep from typing, so I may rush through the rest of my travels. Don't take it to mean I cared less about what happened after this. I just have books to read, people to see, and drinks to be drank (TGIF). *
      After seeing the Embassy, I traveled to one last monument where I took a short nap on the slanted steps. It was a war memorial for Ireland's efforts in India and China; Wars I was saddened to know nothing about previous to my trip. After leaving the park I walked back into the city and to our hostel to rest a bit before heading out to The Temple Bar. There I found Tina, who had abandoned Barbara and Mirco after becoming fed-up with their public displays of affection. We talked about our days, drank coffee in the kitchen and rested for a bit before heading out. When we got to the Temple Bar we were all shocked. We went at 7:30 so we could avoid it from being packed. I guess that was a stupid assumption. There was no room to walk inside, most everyone was already wasted, and the bar didn't have any absinthe (A bucket list item I'm trying to cross off while in Europe, where it is legal). So, we all agreed to travel to a nearby restaurant instead and called it an early night since the drinks were so pricey and we had to be at the airport early. That night I told my traveling companions that I would be leaving promptly at 6:45AM. If they were not ready I was not going to wait. (Some may say this is rude. At this point in the trip I couldn't give a rat's ass. There comes a time where taking responsibility for only yourself becomes necessary to avoid unwanted stress and argument) Barbara turned to me after I made my comment and snapped that a 'friend' would not threaten like that and instead be kind enough to wait if she was running late. I retorted that a 'friend' wouldn't have to wait up in the first place if each other's time was respected. I think I get these qualities from my mother's side. Luckily, my aggression payed off. We were all ready to go at 6:40. Five minutes early ;) 
        Getting to the airport was a hassle, but I gave into to Barbara's request to get a taxi because I was done arguing that a bus would show up (buses run all the time. She was crazy to think no bus was going to come). We got to the airport after dealing with a taxi driver who wanted to talk the whole way. (Mind you it's 6:45 and we had not slept well the night before because the two German girls came in around 4:00AM) It was one of those situations like when you're at the store and the cashier feels it necessary to comment on the items you're purchasing ("Two bottles of wine? Well well well. Either someone's having a part or someone's terribly depressed"). We got through security (Barbara got stopped for having a jar of sauce. Figures!) and were on our way back home. To Scotland. 
       When I finally got home I went running. I was so tired but just had to release the weekend's stress from my body. It worked. I spent the rest of my day alone and recouped my energy for the coming week. Overall, Dublin was incredible. I'm so so happy I was able to go and explore a beautiful city. While much of my writing my have had an acrimonious tone to it, I can't stress enough that I wouldn't have changed a thing. That's actually a lie. Next time I travel it won't be with three others. As they say, 'two is company, three is too much a crowd." 
       Now I'm off to take an afternoon nap on a rainy Scottish day. 26 days until I return home, and 26 days until I must say goodbye to an incredible country that has worked its way all too quickly into my heart.

HEY COW!!!!!!
      -Me

the cliffs

As I sit in 'The Underground' - a University Starbucks cafe - drinking my latte and eating what the Scots call a vanilla slice (basically a pie crust on the top & bottom filled with vanilla creme in the middle) I struggle to find the incentive to write this post. Seeing that I had promised its creation on Sunday, I knew in the morning that I would have to find time at some point to write the post. That doesn't make it any easier. The sun is shining, it's a warmer-than-usual 51 degrees, my iTunes plays the soundtrack from the film Midnight in Paris (a delightful film with early jazz and European-infused musical score) and I'm being wildly entertained by some NEDs (non-educated delinquents) smoking on a bench outside the one of the cafe's many windows. The entertainment comes from the wildlife, a swan in particular, that, while seeing several lucky ducks (literally) being fed crumbs from the teens waddled its way to the bench and picnic table with the speed of a trotting horse. This of course led to those sitting on the grass to jump up and out of the swan's way. They're much larger than they appear in the water, and when they flap their wings, it's an even greater cause for concern from the human species. But I can't stare at the swan all day. Or can I? Maybe I will buy an expired loaf of bread after blogging and go feed them. Before that though, Dublin.

From arriving in Dublin to the time of our check in was a dark time in my life. Just as it was so with the plane ride to Scotland (and the ride home, which I'm not looking forward to given my early departure), I was un-energetic and lacked all compassion for the world. I needed sleep. If I wasn't going to be able to sleep, I was going to need coffee or tea or something else that is more so based in Amsterdam, Holland than in Dublin, Ireland. So, the four of us traveled through the drizzling rain to our hostel and left our bags. It was only 10:30AM, so we were unable to check-in, but the hostel offered a locked room for our possessions. We walked some more in random direction in the hopes of finding food, and food we found! The small and barely noticeable cafe was called Le Petit Parisien Cafe. I know. We weren't in France, but we didn't care. It seemed legit, and it was. I ordered a peppermint tea, knowing the caffeine would be a bit more stable than the crash that would later come from a cup of coffee. Luckily, the cafe served traditional Irish breakfast. Two eggs, a vine of 6 baby tomatoes baked slightly, baked beans, and two pieces of toast. It was simply divine. After resting our legs for a bit at the cafe, we agreed to look around a bit and try to find some tea to take as a gift for dinner later that night (more to come in a bit). Fortunately, there was a specialized tea shop right across the street, so we didn't spend too much time wondering aimlessly. After the cafe we found ourselves at the mercy of Grafton Street - a major shopping avenue. I wanted nothing to do with going into stores because that's not why I traveled to Dublin. The other three, however, had a different idea. They wanted to go into every story imaginable. This is the moment I realized I may be tried for homicide by the end of our trip: Especially when they wanted to go into the Disney store. Most people grow up hearing "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all." But think about that. How interesting would the world be if everyone followed that rule. I'll spare you the complaining for the next several hours and fast forward to nap time. 2 o'clock came, and we rushed to the hostel. We showered and went to bed so we would be able to make our dinner plans without dying on our hosts.

Several years ago my sister Kate studied abroad in Ireland and lived with a host family. Since then, she has kept in good contact with them, and since they lived close to the center of town I wanted to meet them very badly. I planned a week in advance to visit her host family, Leone and Peter, who had graciously offered dinner on Thursday evening. As a college student trying to spend money wisely, I will never pass up a free meal. I even told them I eat meat (I don't normally eat meat, but have done so a bit more since being abroad). The original plan was for me and my three traveling buddies to wake up at 5PM so we could make it to dinner by 6PM. We woke up at 5:15PM and rushed out of the hostel on a journey of which I wasn't too convinced. Traveling out the town on a schedule is difficult. So, we get on the Luas (a train that travels in the middle of the road of main streets). It's a poorly thought-out concept. Anyone can walk on without a ticket. We didn't, of course, know this when we traveled on it the first time. No one check our tickets either there or the way back. Being that it is boarded not through a station but rather just any plain street, there are no gates to enter either. Anyway, we get on the train (all directions were in Gaelic, an official language an not recognizable with any romance language - the only languages my friends and I could decipher if need be) and end up making it to the right stop thanks to friendly locals who were more than willing to tell us how many more stops to go.

Once we arrived at the correct stop we adventured to the house. I'll state here that Ireland is the most complex layout EVER. Telling you the directions would be inane (except for you, Kate) but let's just say we showed up at an address resembling that of the house we were looking for. 30 Crescent Road was where I first knocked on the door. A man answered the door, and I cheerfully declared, "You must be Peter!" Well, it wasn't Peter. This man had no idea who Peter was. I chuckled nervously and apologized for showing up at this stranger's door. On we traveled to continue our search. We turned a street corner and there we say a woman with a child in a stroller waving at us from her porch. This must be Leonie! We approached the house and as we got closer the woman stayed still. Once we got rather close, she yelled an apology saying she thought I was her neighbor. You've got to be kidding. Where is this magical house? We were now 20 minutes late to dinner, which is not my style. I'm never late for anything. After a brief pause to look at the map, we found our way again and eventually arrived at 30 Crescent LANE. A blonde woman holding a baby girl answered the door, and I tried to get it right once again, though to no avail. "You must be Leonie!" She wasn't Leone. She was her sister. See, Leone had gone to the hospital with one of her foster children who had fallen and hit his head. She ended up having to stay the night and Peter was working so I was unfortunately unable to meet either of them. We did, however, have a great dinner!

Later in the evening we all went to a bar that was playing live music. After one drink we all called it a night for several reasons. First, drinks run at 5Euro for the cheapest (except beer. But I really dislike beer), and secondly, we were going to be waking up around 5:45Am to be traveling the next day on a day tour to The Cliffs of Moher. As advised by my sister, a day at the Cliffs is worth a week in Dublin, so to the Cliffs it was. There was a nice tour in collaboration with our hostel that ran less like other tours. We made more stops than other buses and tended to stay at our destinations a bit longer. 

Billy, the baby mountain goat

When we woke up on Friday morning it was absolutely gorgeous. The sky was a light blue and the crisp, Spring air was very welcoming. The first part of our trip consisted of a two-hour drive to a the side of an empty road where we waited ten minutes for our actual bus to pick us up. There were fifteen of us from all different countries and of all different ages. Most slept on the bus ride, as it was quite early. Once we were kicked out of the first bus we all stared blankly at one another wondering if we'd be stuck at this stop forever. There was little sign of life. Eventually our tour bus arrived, and on we went to join approximately 25 other people. We drove for another hour while listening to the tour guide's commentary on the area of Galway until we stopped at a family farm. This was the first difference from other tours. The original 15 - or those who schedule through hostels - were dropped off at a farm while the others were taken to a nearby cave museum. The farm we were at laid at the base of large mountains made mostly of limestone. We met our tour guide for the farm (who lives and works on the farm with his family). He was very kind and explained to us why he does what he does (with the tours). For years, his family had watched tour bus after tour bus drive through the town of 9 houses on the way to The Cliffs, which are owned by the Government. The money from the Cliffs never really helps the country, as he claimed that the Irish Government never really helps the people who struggle to keep their farms running. So with his degree in geography and archeology, he decided to work with one of the tour companies. The bus would drop off a group each day for two hours. During those two hours we were able to feed the family's baby mountain goat, Billy, who was discovered in the winter abandoned on the mountain. He was a pretty feisty fellow with his little antler/horn attachments, but was cuter than anything! We also got to see the cows and ponys. After gawking at the animals as if none of us had never been to a farm or zoo before, we started a hike up the mountain led by our tour guide. The whole way up he gave us a history lesson of the area, which was fascinating. We came along a tree near the top that is believed to connect two worlds. Being so, you take something of yours and tie it to the tree. It can be string or a watch or tread from your shirt. The object represents one worry in the world. Whatever worry you have , you tie it to the tree and let it cross into the other world, never to be remembered again. The most fascinating of concepts and the most spiritually calming traditions. While I won't tell what worry I rid myself of, I feel the other world has already sent back a new worry to replace it. As Frank Sinatra croons, "That's Life." Once we descended the mountain we entered the family home and were able to buy some fresh baked goods made by the family. I had an Irish coffee, which was unbeatable (brown sugar, Bailey's, french-pressed coffee, and freshly whipped cream on the top).

Our tour bus arrived back at the farm and began its journey, once again, to The Cliffs of Moher. The view was breathtaking as we traveled through the middle of the stoney mountains to the Cliffs. Once we were close we received the all-too-predictable "Don't get close to the edge. Stay inside the lines. Be like everybody else. Please conform." Well Mr. tour guide, that's not how I really do things. You gotta live large!!!! I was taking a video while he was making his speech and the following is a direct quote.

------"...very beautiful, but they can also be very dangerous. Now the only times the Cliffs are dangerous are when people are taking silly chances, and believe me folks you could see people down there today taking silly chances. Sometimes you see people sneaking outside the fences, going to the very edge of the Cliff and sometimes even leaning against the wind and as soon as the wind disappears, so to speak, well so does the person. However, if you really want to go to the edge, and if you happen to fall off, as you're falling off, folks, if you just look over to the right hand side you get a fantastic view of Galway Bay. The only problem is that it'll be your last view." -------

So we arrive to the Cliffs and the first thing my friends want to do is go to the gift shop to buy postcards. I could have spit nails. We going to the f***ing Cliff of Moher and you want to buy a postcard before you even see them? The nerve. I joined apprehensively joined them and after wasting five minutes that I could have spent laying along the Cliffs, we finally headed up the giant staircase to the first major lookout. To describe the Cliffs is would be trying to describe any great wonder of the world. Pictures are always decent representations but will never be able to do justice to seeing them with your own two eyes. The wind of the Cliffs was extremely strong that day, but the sky was as clear as crystal. As the four of us traveled along the path of the Cliffs I decided to travel at my own pace rather than the let's-see-everything-we-can-and-never-stop-to-enjoy-it pace of my companions. Plus, I wanted to walk on the edge, which Barbara contested adamantly. She tried to tell me know as if she were my mother, but as an adult I paid her no attention. To the edge I went. YOLO! I can't imagine I'll ever forget my day at the Cliffs because it was one of the best. Off the top of my head there have only been a handful of days (3 or 4) that have been better. After our time to leave came, we all loaded back on the bus and were taken to a local restaurant only ten minutes away. There I was able to taste a local beer along with seafood chowder (with fresh fish!) and a wonderful dessert that I don't really know what was in it. 

The ride back was almost as spectacular as the Cliffs themselves. We drove along the coast line of the Ocean and watched as the tide rose. We stopped at several castles and beaches where we were able to leave the bus for about ten minutes. Too many people stayed on the bus because they were tired. I thought I could sleep when I was dead, so I get out at every stop to explore and smell the fresh air and yell at the sheep to see if they'd look at me. "HEY SHEEP!" (It's a jovial game you can play with all sorts of animals! Since sheep and cows are everywhere in Ireland, it was pretty easy.) Here, I am said to say, my camera died. I didn't think to bring the charger, so the photos from the trip end here and there won't be as many to share on Friday, but it's not really a concern of mine. The world's way of telling me to look for myself rather than through the lens of a camera. Anyways, the travels back were remarkable. While others were sleeping, I saw three different rainbows, watched the sunset on the vast ocean, and said said goodbye to a memorable day filled with laughter, amazement, and humility. 

So that was my Friday in Ireland. I could have expanded even more, but I think that was long enough! Plus, I've been writing this since 3PM and it's now 8PM. (I haven't of course been writing the whole time. I took breaks to feed the swans an entire loaf of bread and to choose a film to watch with friends tonight. Elizabeth: The Golden Age: One of my favorites and one of few I'll watch again.) Before I leave though, I want to share this video (CLICK HERE) that sums up my irritation with Barbara and Mirco during the vacation and especially on our travels to The Cliffs. Eventually Tina and I ignored them. But seriously... check the video out. It's really funny, and you'll understand why I'd be irritated. It also saves me from writing any more on the subject.

Until Friday!
-J 

"Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons
of reason which, today, arm you against the present."
                                          -Marcus Aurelius