Ninja Life: Killary Adventure Weekend, Part 2

    Saturday night I went to bed at 4:30.  Three and a half hours later, my alarm went off, reminding me to prepare for the morning's activity: the Turf Challenge.  All weekend I had seen the aftermath of the Turf Challenge--exhausted students trekking in, freezing cold, and covered in mud. All weekend I swore I would never take part in this masochistic activity.  But Sunday morning, I found myself dragging out all my old clothes in preparation to go romping around in the mud.  This somewhat sadistic turn of events was prompted by our study abroad coordinators, who said we really had to try it, and by the sight of people crawling through mud, which actually looked kind of fun.  Whatever the case, this one activity would justify the ridiculous amount of "new-old" clothes I had bought for the weekend.
     We arrived in the adventure center at some ungodly hour, and our instructor gleefully handed us wetsuits that were still very wet and cold from the day before.  Now, the only experience with wetsuit-like outfits I've ever had is seeing trailers for CatWoman movies.  Let me tell you, they lie.  Every picture you've seen of an attractive woman in a wetsuit is a lie, because absolutely everyone looks like a chubby hippo in a wetsuit. Everyone.  I don't know who designed wetsuits, but the malicious person responsible was surely counting on PhotoShop to make their inhabitants look even partially presentable.  (This is my apology for the pictures to follow.  None of them are particularly glamorous, and none of us even partially resemble CatWoman.)
     After squeezing into the wetsuits and finding old sneakers, we set off for the dirtiest and most fun journey of our lives.  The Turf Challenge is essentially an obstacle course through the mud; you have to slog through shoulder-deep mud pits, crawl under nets, climb over walls, wiggle through tubes, and generally run around.  Our guide very graciously shortened the course for us since it was so cold, and also took pictures with my camera while we attempted the course.  The resulting images are priceless.

The first mud pool we jumped in. It was so cold.

Slogging through!

We got stuck.

We ended up getting through the trench by almost crab-walking along the edges. (My idea!)

Crawling under the midge net.

Crawling through rows of tires. 

The mud team.

Mild misery.

Ninjas!

Being classy in the muck.

I got stuck.....

I love this picture.

    After our adventures in the mud, we ran back to the hostel to shower.  Wetsuits are supposed to keep the clothes underneath safe, but the mud got everywhere--everywhere. After we were somewhat clean, we loaded back into the bus and made the long journey home.

The Escape Hatch Fails: Killary Adventure Weekend, Part 1

     This past weekend, IFSA-Butler gathered all the study abroad students from across Ireland and dumped them onto a campsite in the middle of nowhere in western Ireland.  This was known as the Killary Adventure Weekend.
     Really, though, it was fantastically fun.  The Killary Adventure Company is located on the second longest fjord in Europe, right on the western coast of Ireland near Galway.  The scenery was beautiful.  The journey there, however, was slightly short of miserable.  It was a 5-hour bus ride.  Normal people can sleep on bus rides; all I can do is gaze around in boredom and get carsick.  And that was exactly what I did, with one exception.  You see, our bus had a special form of air conditioning--the escape hatch in the roof.  Usually, escape hatches only open in case of emergency; ours flapped open about every thirty seconds.  I don't know if this was God's commentary on the skill of our driver, but any time we hit over 60 km/hr, one side of the escape hatch popped open, letting in all the rain and the freezing cold air right into the back of the bus.
     Being some form of a competent engineer, I of course could not stand for this. Though my practical experience is somewhat lacking, I figured my knowledge of membrane transport processes and fluid mechanics perfectly qualified me to fix any form of mechanical failure.  While this is undoubtedly false, I got lucky this time and (with the help of two other travelers) managed to secure the rebellious escape hatch using a bus curtain and a hair tie.

Demonstrating my real-life engineering skills.

   Once I survived the long, winding, nausea-inducing bus ride, I went off to my room with my enormous suitcase.  We were only supposed to be there for three days, but I had enough clothes to last three weeks. Daddy, I can see you laughing, but in this case it was justified!  We had all received countless emails reminding us to bring old, gross clothes, and lots of them, because we would be getting so dirty in all the activities. I did not happen to bring old gross clothes to Ireland, so instead I went shopping for new, cheap clothes I didn't care about and could get dirty.  While all the clothes I bought were very cheap, they were also very cute, so I mourned their future fate as the sales clerk rang them up.
   That night, Friday night, was Trivia Night after dinner.  The Trinity team named ourselves Nixon's Vixens and proceeded to kick butt at trivia, none of it thanks to me.  With questions from pop culture like, "Who assassinated John Lennon?", "What were the names of Donald Duck's three nephews?", and "Who (male and female) has won the most Oscars?", I was at a complete loss and mostly just agreed with the majority.
    The next morning we woke up bright and early and left for our chosen activities.  The adventure center was a 10-minute walk from the headquarters where our rooms were located, so we trotted down to the center and met our instructors.  I chose zip-lining and the high ropes course for my first activity, along with a few other Trinity people.  The zip lining was great fun.

Zip-lining down the hill! That's me on the left.

Me being a crazy person while zip-lining.

   The high ropes course, however, was a different story. It turns out that you actually need some kind of arm strength to climb things, a fact that I conveniently ignored when envisioning myself scaling huge walls and scampering up difficult ropes courses with the greatest ease.  I did not get very far on this ropes course.

Looking like a pro on the ropes course. I only made it to the first long horizontal bar....

I looked pretty cute in the helmet, though!

The harnesses were so flattering.

   After that embarrassing experience, I partially redeemed myself by climbing up a very tall pole, standing on a platform about one square foot with another girl, and jumping off said pole with the girl onto a trapeze. I was pretty proud of myself.

The very tall pole in all its glory.

Climbing up to the top with Breanna.

Jumping onto the trapeze--I almost missed!

Hanging safe and sound.

  After proving my adventurousness to myself, we headed back inside for some food before the second activity of the day....laser tagging and the Killary Challenge.  Laser tagging was very fun, although the combination of extreme competitiveness and extreme lack of ability is not the best, as I discovered.  My klutziness was highlighted after I accidentally stepped into a two-foot-deep mud bog. While my jeans were destroyed, my spirit was not, and I continued playing until I was killed. (The guns make a very disturbing death noise when you lose your last life.)

I took my role seriously.

Meanwhile, Breanna cradled her gun like a baby....

    The Killary Challenge consisted of team bonding exercises where you solve problems with your team. It was interesting, but my mud-soaked jeans kept me a few degrees above freezing, so I was eager to get home.
    After a dinner of suspicious-looking soup and bread, I went to (what else?) study a bit before the disco that night.  I wasn't expecting much, but the disco was actually loads of fun.  The DJ played music and we all danced for a very long time. I didn't have the courage to display my awkward dance style to the world, but the more experienced dancers hopped up onto the countertop to show off their skills. I had so much fun.
     The windows (as we discovered) opened up onto a very accessible rooftop covered in grass, which we definitely took advantage of.  Although it was below freezing, the view was lovely.  The fireplace inside proved too tempting, however, and I headed inside for Jenga and fireside chats.  The Jenga game proved to be a serious matter, and the resulting tower was about twice its original height. (I won, despite my total lack of hand-eye coordination. I attribute this to pure luck.)  We sat in front of the fire until 4:30 in the morning, talking about everything from hot dogs and fraternities to Nepali politics.  It was quite a night.
     The next day, I woke up bright and early to crawl through the mud, in what is known as the Turf Challenge...

The hills of Connemara.

     

St. Patrick's Day, Dublin Style

     This past weekend, Ireland celebrated the biggest tourist scheme of this age: St. Patrick's Day.  St. Patrick's Day is a traditionally Irish holiday honoring St. Patrick, who (as we all know), drove the snakes out of Ireland.  This somehow morphed into the biggest day of drinking known to man, which then turned into the biggest tourist attraction Ireland has ever known.
    The official celebration lasts three days, but the tourists start arriving a week beforehand.  Tourists have always been a nuisance, but it gets exponentially worse around the Sunday of St. Patrick's Day. Apparently, once you visit a city, you lose all ability to walk properly; tourists walk agonizingly slowly, and tend to wander around the sidewalk and admire the pubs and shops recently painted with cheesy leprechauns as though they represented the "real Ireland."  News flash: no, Ireland is not normally plastered over with leprechauns, shamrocks, and green things.  This was all done expressly for your arrival, you slow-walking tourists who won't get out of my way when I'm already late for a class. Please stop gawking and embarrassing yourselves.
    To be fair, I can also be a tourist in Dublin when I choose.  I just don't choose to do so that often.  I did, however, make an exception for this particular weekend.
     Anyway, my Cornell friend Grace arrived in Dublin Saturday morning and immediately shipped off to a day tour of the Cliffs of Moher (see previous blog post for my own expeditions there).  That night, I headed to St. Stephen's Green to check out some of the festivities with my other study abroad friends.  We stumbled upon a carnival, got excited when we saw the Ferris Wheel, and paid an exorbitant fee to ride said Ferris Wheel. It was totally worth it.

Aforementioned Ferris Wheel.

    On the way home, we noticed that some of the important buildings now were the subjects of light displays in (guess what color!) green.

The Front Gate of Trinity College, now decorated with a green claddagh ring.

The Taioseach's office, now covered in sickly green.

    The next morning was St. Paddy's Day.  We woke up early, procured some green, white, and orange face paint (the colors of Ireland's flags), made some eggs, and got ready for the parade.

All ready for the parade! See the face paint?

Grace and I decided to go hardcore, and painted our lips too.

    We were then ready for the parade.  Now, the first important thing to know about the parade is that no Irish people actually attend unless they have young children.  Generally, for St. Paddy's Day, Irish people cloister themselves in their homes or local pubs to avoid the crowds of tourists.  The second important thing to know is that if you say "St. Patty's Day," you will automatically mark yourself out as a tourist.  It's "St. Paddy's Day"--the "d" is crucial.
   We weren't expecting any Irishmen at this parade, and we were not disappointed.  Almost every person attending the parade, and even in the parade, was not Irish.  The first part of the parade was the People's Parade, where anyone who signed up beforehand could march.  This mostly included savvy tourists who planned ahead and signed up.  The second part of the parade was the "real" part, and here I saw more American high school marching bands than I've ever seen in the States.

So many arms.  Good for doing dishes!

Brazilian belly dancers....so cold, the poor things.

One of the many American high school marching bands.

It's a lip!

Ernest Shackleton, on his quest to the North Pole.

       The parade was great fun despite being overrun by tourists, but we were exhausted afterwards, so went home to eat and take catnaps before heading over to the House (where other study abroad students live).  The entire Trinity Trampolining team was there, and it was loads of fun.  Not only was it interesting to watch their methods of imbibing copious amounts of alcohol (they demonstrated the "hour of power" for us, where you take a shot of beer every minute), but they were also quite funny.  Somehow, we all ended up singing the US National Anthem, which the Irish fellows knew, and the Canadian National Anthem, which they also knew, but also the Irish National Anthem, which only they knew.  It was all in Irish, so I don't feel too bad for my ignorance.
     After awhile at the House, a few of us went on to another party with the Dance Society.  True to its form, there was loads of dancing.  At first it was typical "club" music that I'm terrible at dancing to--I just look so awkward--but it somehow morphed into Bollywood and the Jackson 5.  It turns out that I'm also a terrible Bollywood dancer, but it's much more fun to dance to anyway.
   I collapsed into bed around 3am, then woke up at 6:45 to bring Grace to her bus to the airport.  It was raining, which for the first time I was grateful for--it washed off all the vomit on the sidewalks.  After the crazy night before, the city was completely deserted.  As of now, some straggler tourists still remain, but it is much easier to get to class on time once the hungover majority streamed out of the city on Monday.  My verdict?  It was a good St. Patrick's Day, although it somehow didn't feel authentic. I guess I'll just have to stay here another year to experience a "genuine" St. Patrick's Day!

Ashley's Visit, Part 2: Cliffs of Moher

Saturday night swing dance ball. Picture stolen from Ashley--www.caminodeashley.blogspot.com. Check it out!

    We went to bed Saturday night after dancing for four hours, and woke up three hours later to depart for the Cliffs of Moher.  While waking up was pure misery, and I couldn't think properly for at least two hours, my motto is to always sacrifice sleep for adventure. And what an adventure we had!
    We had booked the rental car the day before, planning to drive to the Cliffs of Moher in the morning.  It's about a 90-minute drive, which wasn't terrible.  We looked up the rental rates online, and knew we had either used up all our life's luck in one shot, or it was too good to be true.  It was too good to be true. The 14.99 car rental rate online turned into 80 euros in person, which was definitely expensive, but we figured it had to be worth it. After signing all the paperwork, the car man told us that the (very expensive) insurance covered absolutely anything and everything--except tires.  But we were only driving for a few hours; there was nothing to worry about.
    So after blearily stumbling around Galway for half an hour trying to find the parking garage, which was better hidden than the Holy Grail, we drove off into the sunrise.  Although she had been worried about it, Ashley was actually quite a talented left-side-of-the-road driver.

What a pro.

    About twenty minutes into the journey, a strange noise began emanating from the left side of the car, and Ashley and I looked at each other--no way. No. Way.  We then learned what it means to have a good business plan.   You see, Budget Car Rental never has to pay for replacement tires; instead, their unlucky customers do, and we happened to be the unluckiest of them all.
   We had a flat tire.

Very, very flat.

    We wrangled with the new tire for a few minutes, then realized something was wrong when we (read: Ashley) couldn't get the hubcap off. (I tried to help, I really did, but I mostly stood around being cold.)

 
     I then took the duty of flagging down another car upon myself, and may I say, I was a fantastic car-waver.  Some people even waved back. (Much more effective than I would have been at jacking up the car.) Finally, after about ten minutes of enthusiastic waving, one car pulled to the side to help.  A very nice man named Peter came to our rescue, told us that the hubcap we were trying to remove was actually the rim, and proceeded to change the tire for us.  He seemed surprised when we told him how long we'd been trying to get people to help.  When we suggested that folks might be headed to church, he astutely observed that church wouldn't be much good if they weren't even willing to assist two young ladies clearly in need.  He politely refused our offers of help, and when I asked again, he told me with a twinkle in his eye that Ivy Leaguers were managers, not manual laborers, and I should stay back and properly run the operation.
   After Peter got the spare on, we thanked him profusely and were good to go, although we knew we would need a new tire eventually.  We found a lovely bit of boggy land near some kind of castle and took some touristy pictures.

 
     We passed through the Burren, a barren, rocky landscape that looks the moon.

The Burren. Picture stolen from Ashley.

   We drove along the coastal route from Galway to the Cliffs. This picture doesn't do it justice--the water was the kind of aqua blue you only expect in the Caribbean, and contrasted with the grey grey skies and the rocks it was so fiercely lovely.

    And finally we arrived at the Cliffs of Moher. Aside from having a cool name, I'm not so sure what makes them different from any of the other coastal cliffs in Ireland, but I suppose it doesn't really matter. They are beautiful nonetheless.

I have proof I was there!

    It was bitterly cold, but we withstood it for as long as humanly possible, and then headed back home.  We had a long drive ahead of us, and also needed to get that tire fixed.  As it turned out, getting the tire fixed was a bigger problem than we'd thought.  Because it was a Sunday, every normal tire place was closed, and we had to call a tire company that charged an extra 50 euros just to get the guys out there on a Sunday.  That plus the paying for the actual tire made this journey the most expensive trip to the Cliffs of Moher ever conceived. At least we have a story to tell for it!
   We got back to Galway and immediately headed to our second and final swing dance lesson.  This time we learned Lindy Hop, a tricky dance I had never been able to master before.  I have to say, I exceeded my own (very low) expectations for myself; I learned Lindy Hop, and was doing pretty well by the time the end of the three hours rolled around.  In fact, I only fell once during the whole weekend, and that wasn't even my fault--my partner was trying to dip me, but dropped me instead. I guess this means dieting is in order....
    We took the train back to Dublin, and went for dinner as soon as we got there.  We ate at my new favorite pub, wolfing down some excellent Beef and Guinness Stew (me) and Bangers [sausages] and Mash (Ashley).  We lugged all our stuff home, but my backpack was refreshingly light, since we had eaten most of the food I carried.
   Before packing, Ashley revealed a parting gift from the relatives she had recently visited--holy water, taken from a holy well near their farm.  We weren't actually sure what to do with it, so we first drank a sip (because hey, holy water makes you holy, right? I'm sure my intestinal system could use some purification), and then decided to bless our claddagh rings to ensure we'd find good boyfriends/husbands. We weren't sure how to do that either, so we splashed it on our hands and said that we blessed it in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  As a final act of blessing, we made the sign of the cross with our fingers dipped in holy water.  Now, we weren't sure if the fingers went up-down-left-right, or up-down-right-left, so we did it both ways, just to cover all the bases.  Now we are completely blessed, and fully expect a great life from hereon out.