Happy Monday! (And happy Labor Day to all you phenomenal workers in America and beyond) It’s a happy one because 1. Being in Dublin, there’s nothing to not be happy about. 2. My morning began
with drumming lessons at the Masamba Samba School for class. 3. This weekend
was aglow with travel.
Friday kicked us off with a trip to the zoo—or what was supposed to be only a trip to the zoo. A small group of us headed off with a spring in our step towards Phoenix Park, one of Europe’s largest enclosed parks. Inside, it holds walking/biking/driving trails, a zoo, a cricket park, and the Wellington monument, where we found ourselves lost in the park’s seventeen hundred acres. The obelisk, reminiscent of the Washington Monument in D.C. or the Bunker Hill Monument in Charlestown, rose over the treetops and piqued our curiosity. We followed it until we reached the clearing that it is located in, and asked two men if they could point us in the direction of the zoo. Travelers themselves, they flipped open their guidebook to Dublin and searched for us. At the same time, an older gentlemen came up behind us and asked, “Are you guys lost?”
He quickly pointed us in the direction of the zoo, and as we
thanked him and started the trek over, he asked where we were from.
Conversation ensued about the monument and the grounds, where the man talked
about the park’s six hundred free-roaming deer and their ancestry with the
original deer placed here in the seventeenth century. It’s taken him about two
years, he said, but he’s finally been able to start feeding the deer straight
from his hand.
“Do you want to go do it?” He asked, glancing around at all
of us and waiting for the immediate agreement on our part. Hesitation blanketed
me for a moment when he brought up getting his car; but the genuine way in
which he spoke with us and reflected on the overwhelming history and beauty of
Phoenix Park was more than enough for that to last no more than a moment. Six
of us, including Tony (we learned his name after agreeing to go) squished into
his two-door car before being taken through the park’s winding roads and
estates—including the Guinness family’s property!
And yes, the deer we were promised were there. A group of
them were spotted between trees, and Tony pulled over to the side of the road
and fished around in his trunk for the oats he keeps there. Stealthily, we
stepped through the tall grasses and watched from afar as Tony shook the bag of
oats and attracted one, then two, deer. I scared one away with my approaching,
but as my step grew slower the second one stayed around and nibbled the oats
from my palm. The proximity of these gentle animals was beautiful. Cobwebs grew
on their antlers, and they stood with almost a majestic innocence. Tony passed
oats around to each of us until the bag was empty, and we left with the deer
watching us from the woods carefully. When it was apparent to the creature that
we weren’t returning, it turned and followed the small group it had been with.
We ended up at the zoo after more than an hour of driving
around with Tony, but it couldn’t have been a more spontaneous or exciting exploration.
Saturday saw to an early rising and a thirty minute walk to
the bus station, where a few friends and I hopped aboard for a trip to Cork. As
soon as we were out of the city, we drove south among the stereotypical rolling
fields of Ireland. Large groups of cows lounged in morning’s growing light, and
sheep peeked out from behind clumps of trees. It was the first truly sunny day
that I’ve seen since being in Ireland, making for nothing short of a pleasant
day. And the ride home was spectacular—the sunset glowed on the horizon until
just before nine in the evening, leaving us with the day’s last touches of
delight.
We arrived in Cork at half past eleven in the morning, and we
traipsed through the city’s narrow, lively streets. Most places at that time
were still serving breakfast, so we popped into a local chain for bagel sandwiches.
We did find some theatre with our dinner (sort of) in the trail of musicians
performing on every street corner. Across from the café we sat in, an older man
strummed his guitar and crooned Irish melodies into the microphone. On a
different street corner sat a man at an outside piano, his fingers dancing
swiftly across ebony and ivory. The world in Cork is utterly alive.
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| Oh yeah: I also found lots of Maher's. |
From there, we hopped on another bus to Blarney, where we
spent the better part of the afternoon being nothing but enchanted by the
Blarney Castle’s gardens, trails, as well as the Castle itself. We popped in
and out of the castle’s rooms, always returning to the one spiral staircase
that grew narrower as it twirled to the top. But we climbed to the top, which
offered sweeping views of the expanse of land, and led us to the famous ol’
Stone. Yep, I smooched it.
But to me, the gardens were the most exquisite piece of the
journey. Stories about a witch’s cave and ice houses surround the land, and
each turn provided a new climb, or a new angle from below, or a new cluster of
Jurassic Park-esque leaves. And with sunshine’s fateful glow in the space
between trees and late afternoon rays over the hill that we (almost) napped on,
I felt like I had stepped into another world entirely. I could build a hut and
live there for the rest of my days with all the joy in the world. While some
say to avoid Cork or Blarney Castle, I say go at it with full force. Unless you
don’t like being mystified, but who wouldn’t want that?
We ended the day at an Italian restaurant, Clauddaugh, with
an uncensored American Top 40 playlist and too many tempting dishes. I burned
my tongue on lasagna and laughed and chatted with my wonderful company of
friends.
On Sunday, I was woken from that once-upon-a-time land with a
jump into the Irish Sea. You heard me—on a cloudy, fifty-something degrees and
windy morning, many of us from the program traveled to Dun Laoghaire for a dip
in the water and a well-deserved ice cream afterwards! I jumped from this Forty
Foot cliff jump’s baby rock, and was glad I did. I got the thrill without the
incessant nerves leading up to doing it (or the fear of jumping too close to
the rocks, hitting a rock below… you get it).
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| You see the baby, moss covered rock at the tip? That's where I came from. |
And the ice cream swirled up from
my cone like a puff of whipped cream and was covered in Oreos, some rogue
sprinkles, and in its side was stuck a little chocolate stick. What better way
to warm up?!
The adventures I have been on thus far have been somewhat
unexpected but always worthwhile. So could the same be for this journey in
total: planning a study abroad semester and living it have come with some
expected differences, but nothing could be more satisfying or enjoyable.
“Let us step into the night and pursue that
flighty temptress, adventure.” –
J.K Rowling
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