Day Fifty

Wednesday, August 12th, 2009

Once again soaring at 30,000 feet, this time soaring over barren, rocky terrain on the last leg of our thirty-six hour journey home, I find myself growing reflective and pensive over the land I have left. I have a terrible memory, which was the inciting purpose of creating this blog—therefore I could remember every important detail of my seven, yes SEVEN weeks in Europe. Reading through some of my earlier entries, I am remind of all the events, both good and bad, that have transpired over these fifty days.

I can’t wait to go home, I really can’t, and when the disturbingly appropriate Michael Bublé song came on in the Dublin airport as we were eating breakfast, I got a little teary eyed. I’ve missed my family, my friends, my phone with free texting, clean showers, my bed, my car, my hair straightener, my laundry machine, and not having to mentally tell myself that everything I’m buying is really twice as expensive as it says it is.

I’ve also got the biggest craving for In and Out in the world.

I’ve also spent more time than I particularly care to say waiting for or being on planes, trains, and buses.

But I feel a bit like Dorothy returning from Oz and…almost think I’ll miss being abroad more.

I’ll miss the River Liffey, and the way it rains all the fucking time in Ireland. I’ll miss my feet aching every day when I woke up because I’d walked so much the day before .I’ll miss the Galway Arts Festival, Macnas, and Propellar. I’ll miss the walk into town on a cool and sunny day. I’ll miss Shop Street, the delicious crepes, McDonagh’s, and the Spudhouse. I’ll miss Taffes, the King’s Head, the Crane, Monroe’s, the Roisin Dubh, and late night Supermac’s. I’ll miss Cadburry chocolate spread, early morning Tim Tams, and watching iCarly with two other 21 year olds and considering it an acceptable way to pass the time. I’ll miss hurling, and trying to take shots of whiskey while people are screaming “THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!”. I’ll miss Smythwick’s, Carlsberg, Killarney, Galway Hooker, and not once getting carded. I’ll miss hating on the tin whistle, getting up early to read a play, and frantically trying to write my essays. I’ll miss the Projects, the salmon building, and every single one of the USAC kids. I’ll miss Lorcan the tour guide, Steve the tour guide, and Dave the Beefeater. I’ll miss Quigs and Caoilfhionn and hell, even Angus too. I’ll miss the magical feeling of Galway and the beautiful countryside around it.

But oh Guinness, I think I’ll miss you most of all.

I don’t know how many times I turned to Abbie during our travels and incredulously exclaimed, “Who are we? Who does this?” because I could honestly not believe that I was doing some of the things I was. Who gets to find pubs with colorful locals (“I’ve been there!”) in Dublin? Who gets to see plays at the Abbey Theatre? Who gets to walk along the Galway Bay where the Claddagh was originally forged? To visit Coole Park, the home of Lady Gregory? To go to Connemara and see the famine road? To do makeup for a parade of over 200 people? To PARTICIPATE in said parade as a performer? To get to hang out with a touring theatre company, watch a tech run, and be accepted like we’d been with them for years? To watch a hurling championship in Tipperary? To watch bands perform live music? To see the van Gogh, up close and personal, that I once tried to recreate for a class? To go to the top of the Eiffel Tower on a full moon and look down on the streets of Paris? To stroll along the canals and take in the culture of Amsterdam’s red light district? To see Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart perform a Beckett play and get the latter’s autograph? To take the Eucharist at Westminster Abbey? To see the Globe? The National Theatre? The Houses of Parliament? Buckingham Palace? The Tower of London? To walk the streets Jack the Ripper once walked? To try and break through the barrier of Platform 9 ¾?

Certainly not me, the girl from FarmTown, CA who all her life only dreamt of these places or watched them in movies. But none of this would have been possible without the help of a lot of people. I’d like to thank USAC and all the people in the Study Abroad office at CSU Chico for being on top of their game and knowing what they’re talking about. Quigs and Caoilfhionn for being a never-ending source of guidance, comfort, and advice. The Department of Theatre Arts at CSU Chico who generously provided me with scholarships that are literally what made this possible—I’ve got a lot I’m bring back. I want to thank Amanda and Adanna for letting us crash on their couches/floor/beds—you’ve got an open invitation anytime you’re back in the states. To all the USAC kids—I love you, each and every one of you and I miss you all terribly. There’s a spot in Chico waiting for you if that Vegas reunion doesn’t happen. I want to thank my family for being supportive, especially my mom who took the panicked phone call from Amsterdam in stride when I, crying, told her I had run out of money (oops).

And finally, to my long-suffering travelling companion, Abbie. I know we had our highs and our lows. I know times were sometimes tense. And sometimes the craic was fecking amazing. But this trip honestly wouldn’t have been the same without you. You truly made the difference and I thank you for putting up with my insanity and crazy ideas for seven whole weeks. Lesser friends couldn’t have pulled it off. Love ya.

And now, I’d like to leave you with the traditional Irish toast: SLÁINTE!

Next stop: The return to my regularly scheduled life.

Day Forty-Nine

Tuesday, August 11th, 2009

Okay, yes, I admit that I am a complete and total geek. Go ahead and judge me and laugh at me when you want, but when I began this blog, I made a promise to myself to be honest and forthright, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. After waking up and packing up all our luggage for our journey back to Dublin later that afternoon, we discovered we had ample time before we had to be at Buckingham Palace for the changing of the guards. So we decided to get on the tube and take a train.

To Platform 9 ¾.

Yes, dear readers, you may now commence with the judging. But upon our arrival in London, I told Abbie that I would require a photograph with the embedded luggage trolley on a wall in King’s Cross that bore the famous name in homage to the Harry Potter series. Abbie, begrudgingly, acquiesced. Our first attempt had happened the night before, during the break between our Tower of London and Jack the Ripper escapades. But I was unable to locate the location of the installation (for those of you who think to comment about how I might try looking three-quarters of the way between platforms 9 and 10, I kindly ask you to shove it and look it up on Wikepedia.)

Which is what I did, and found a distinctive wall pattern that I believed might help me find the location. Sheer pride prevented me from asking an official and having to undergo the judgmental stare. When we arrived at the station Tuesday morning, I began my brisk walk down Platform 9, looking for any signs of it. And I found it, hidden in a crossover between Platforms 4 and 9. After I took my series of pictures, Abbie even got into the fun and allowed me to take one of her as well.

After our success at proving ourselves to be way too nerdy for our own good, we headed down to Buckingham Palace. Admittedly, we were both a little cranky that morning due to wanting to be home and the stress of our travels/lack of sleep. We had a minor spat in the park next to the palace and both agreed we were being passive aggressive jerks and we should just hug it out and stop being stupid.

So we found the palace (really, it’s not hard what with it being big and all) and managed to get somewhat decent places for the changing of the guard. Our view inside of the gates where the actual ceremony took place was restricted, but we had a clear view to see them march in front of us. I admit that I’m completely ignorant about the procedures or who was participating, but first marched in guards dressed in more traditional military uniforms. Following them were the guards (whose name I used to know once upon a time) that everyone thinks of. You know—red coat, biiiiig fuzzy black hat? I got really, really excited. Then came guards on horseback. They played music as they marched, and after some sort of ceremony, each of the bands played some music for the crowd.

The first band that played were the traditional military guards. One would expect, from these soldiers inside of Buckingham Palace, maybe something like a little Handel? Gilbert and Sullivan? Maybe even a rousing rendition of ‘God Save the Queen’?

Oh no, dear friends.

It took me approximately ten seconds to place the song. Turning to Abbie, incredulous look on my face, I asked (probably a bit too loudly), “Are they playing…ABBA?!”

Yes. Yes, they were. The chorus of Dancing Queen filtered out over the masses gathered to watch the ceremony as Abbie and I looked on in a mixture of horror and disbelief. ABBA?! But…but…THEY’RE NOT EVEN BRITISH! Why not a nice Beatles medley? Or hell…even the Spice Girls! At least THEY’RE British! And then…worst of all…the crowd began to sing along.

I wasn’t sure what dimension or twilight zone I had just apparated to, but for the Queen’s Guard to be playing an ABBA medley inside the gates of Buckingham Palace and for the crowd to be singing along…it had to be somewhere very dark and very scary.

Fortunately, the Fuzzy Hats (as they shall now be called) saved the day with their rather jazz band-like approach. I admit I’m a huge fan of their drummer, who was really getting into it. At least…as much as those guys can get into anything. Despite the lingering horror of having ABBA songs stuck in our heads, we stayed and watched them process out (I have the whole thing on video if you’re interested.)

From there, we went to Piccadilly Circus to do some last minute tourist shopping.

And from there, we went to the Baker Street exit, coming up on street level and making our way to one of the most famous addresses in the world: 221B Baker St.—home of the Great Detective.

Yes, you may judge us more for wanting to visit the Sherlock Holmes museum, but it was rather cheap and actually quite interesting. They had the entire space done up to reflect the canon, the living room and the detective’s bedroom resplendent in Victorian fashion. I immediately noted the pipe, the deerstalker cap, the magnifying glass, and the violin. I also found something missing: a syringe.

The upper floors, while dressed in Victorian fashion as well, held more artifacts and drawings than anything. The top floor had wax dummies representing some of the more intriguing stories. I was highly amused by one family who, in complete seriousness, was asking the costumed employee “How long did he live here?” and “Didn’t he move on to Scotland?” I resisted the urge to tell them that Sherlock Holmes is, in fact, a fictional character. But after Santa and the Easter Bunny, I suppose one can only take so much.

We then returned to Adanna’s apartment for the last time, grabbing our things and making our way to Victoria Station where we caught the Gatwick Express to the airport. The flight itself was uneventful, but it was the arrival that was worth noting. Just as we reclaimed our left bag from Left Luggage and were heading back into the departures terminal to begin the dreaded Twelve Hour Layover of Doom, we heard a loud shriek and found ourselves being nearly tackled to the floor in a bear hug.

Once the adrenaline had worn off, we found it was Brittney, one of the USAC kids, arriving with her mom in Dublin. We were very excited to see each other, and after a quick conversation realized we were on the same flight to Chicago the next morning. They bid us adieu on their way to hoteled comfort, whilst we found a spot in the terminal, settled down, and tried to catch some sleep on the hard, freezing ground floor. If only we could just Floo home…

Next stop: Home

Day Forty-Eight

Monday, August 10th, 2009

After our brief respite of sleeping in the previous day, Abbie and I were once again woken up by my ever-pleasant phone alarm. Adanna was already “on set” for the day (yeah, she’s kind of awesome and ridiculous as the same time) so we were once again left up to our own devices. Fortunately, we had a full day planned out for us. We left the house around nine in the morning and took the tube down to Waterloo station, grabbing breakfast at a Café Nero Express (have you figred out yet that we took a liking to this place?) and walking the few blocks to the National Theatre.

That’s right. We were going on a backstage tour. Now, before you go and get your knickers in a twist (as the British are wont to say) about how we managed to finagle that knowing absolutely no one involved with the theatre, let me put you at ease by saying that the tour is open to the public and goes quite a few times per day. So, though we’d like to think we are, we’re really not that special.

If there was any doubt that our guide, Gemma, was enthusiastic about theatre, that would have easily been put at ease by her overly expressive gesticulations as she talked about how sets and fly systems worked. Yeah, some of the information she gave us was pretty basic stuff, but there were a few interesting tidbits (like that the Olivier fly system is comprised of a series of hooks instead of the tradition baton method…I’m as stumped as you are, don’t worry.)

But we got to go sit in the house for each of the theatres: The impressive Greek amphitheatre-esque Olivier, the more traditional proscenium, and the small black box (I’ve forgotten their names because they weren’t famous actors…and I’m on an airplane right now else I’d look them up. So sue me.) Each visit to the house was followed by a visit to the backstage areas, which are literally separated from the stages by “shutters” (large doors that slide back or roll up). We got to see the sets of some of the plays in rep (there’s usually at least two in rep per theatre) and then went further into the bowels of the building to see the massive scenic construction and design workspaces. Pete and Dave, eat your heart out.

Afterwards, Abbie bombarded the guide with questions about designers and their relationship with the National Theatre itself and apprenticeships and I was beginning to think I’d never be able to get her on a plane out of London. After a quick breeze through the bookshop, we walked back to the Underground and took the train to Tower Hill: Home to the Tower of London.

I’ve seen a few gory and spooky documentaries about the Tower on the travel or history channel, but I admit I was one of those people who thought the Tower was a singular building. It’s not. Which I was quick to learn upon exiting the subway and seeing the impressive fortress looming before us. The Tower is guarded by an outside wall, and inside there are many more towers, houses, and other buildings (including the famous White Tower). In all, there are 20 towers in the Tower of London.

Be bought our tickets and queued up for the next guided tour by one of the Beefeaters (or Yeoman)—you know, the guys in the red with gold lining tunic-y thing with the squishy black hat? The uniform’s changed a bit, but the same basic principle. Being the dumb American I am, I assumed the guides were some people with a brief knowledge of history hired out by the British Tourist Board or something.

Oh how wrong I was.

As Dave, our awesome guide, told us somewhat into the tour, becoming a guide to the Tower of London is actually really hard. To begin with, one must achieve the rank of Sergeant Major (and please forgive me because I know I’ve butchered the rank horribly—again, no internet on airplanes) in the Royal Forces, something that requires at least 20-22 years of service. In addition, one must conduct themselves in good conduct for the first 18 years of service. That means no mark on your record. Not doing anything wrong or making any mistakes. For eighteen years. Some of the perks? Dave and his fellow Beefeaters live there. Yes, they and their family LIVE at the Tower of London (as evidenced by the “medieval car park” he pointed out upon first entering the main gate).

The tour was mostly of some of the courtyard’s highlights: Traitor’s Gate where high profile prisoners could be brought in directly from the river, Bloody Tower where young Prince Edward (I think it was Edward) and his younger brother mysteriously disappeared under the “care” of their uncle who would soon become Richard III (their bodies were later found in a small coffin sealed inside a wall), and the green where the private executions of the likes of Anne Boleyn and Jane Grey took place.

Now on our own, Abbie and I explored a few of the towers, seeing graffiti carved into the stone by some of the prisoners, a rather disappointing exhibition on torture devices, a surprisingly large exhibition on King Henry VIII’s armor, and last, but most certainly not least…the Crown Jewels.

I freely admit that I pretty much have no interest in jewelry. My class ring from high school and my Claddagh ring have proven to be the only pieces I will repeatedly and frequently wear. I can’t tell the difference between real jewels and costume pieces—they all look the same to me. But when we got on that little moving walkway to glide past the casing for the Crown Jewels, and I saw the giant Star of Africa inside the scepter…I knew that it was much more important and beautiful than a silly piece of costume jewelry.

After finishing the Tower and cruising the gift shop, we realized we had about two hours until our Jack the Ripper walking tour (don’t judge, you know it’s awesome) left from the same station we were already at. But, to pass the time, we decided to make a fruitless journey to King’s Cross. But more on that tomorrow.

Arriving back at Tower Hill, we easily found the leaders of the tour right outside the station. I admit I had kind of been looking forward to it since finding the information online. I was also really excited to have Donald as our guide, since he is widely acclaimed as the present best authority on Jack the Ripper. The tour itself was largely uneventful. Most of the area of London where the murders occurred has obviously changed dramatically since the late Victorian years, leaving little ambiance to set the mood (and no, there were no guys in dark cloaks with fake knives jumping out at us either). But Donald took us to each location where the murdered victims had been found and described, sparing no detail, the conditions.

Though non-eventful, it was definitely informative, and as we moved deeper into the East End, we were able to get a little bit of a feeling of the ambiance with all the brown bricked former lodging houses surrounding us. After the tour concluded, Abbie and I both bought his book and had him sign it (it’s a pretty interesting read too). We then headed back to the apartment where Adanna had not yet returned from her glamorous life on set, and decided that since we once more needed to get up early in the morning, we’d best head to bed.

Day Forty-Seven

Sunday, August 9th, 2009

Originally, Adanna had planned to take us around the city today, showing us all the tourist spots. But she was lucky enough to get called in to an interview and thus was otherwise occupied. Abbie and I didn’t mind though. We planned to take the tube down to London Bridge, then walk up the embankment past The Globe, the National Theatre, and eventually meet up with the London Eye and Houses of Parliament. Sounds like a simple enough plan, right?

Currently, a lot of the Tube is undergoing construction and most of that construction takes place on the weekends. The line that would have taken us directly there was only going halfway that day, something we didn’t realize until we were forced to get off. Okay, we said, we’ll take another line up to King’s Cross, get on a different line, and go straight down. Apparently, the line we picked didn’t stop at King’s Cross that particular day. So we had to switch lines at the next station, go back to King’s Cross, and eventually got down to London Bridge.

By that time we had spent easily an hour and a half underground and when we emerged, I was disoriented and didn’t have any of it on my map. Needless to say, I was a little cranky that morning. But we found London Bridge (which is really not that impressive…the original one is in Arizona) and eventually found a Café Nero where we got breakfast (because food makes everything better). After breakfast, we finally found the route we were supposed to take and came upon The Globe. And guess who was standing outside?

The Italians.

That’s right. Remember the Italian kids who swarmed Corrib Village and blocked every entrance and stairway? I recognized their blue backpacks immediately and turned to Abbie in horror, which she quickly returned. Luckily, it seemed they had just gotten done with whatever they were doing and moved on, leaving the space free and clear of people who would back up into you whilst you’re holding a cup of hot coffee.

Since there was a matinee on that day, I wasn’t sure if we were going to be able to take the tour of the actual Globe and thought we would only be able to go see foundations of the nearby Rose Theatre. Turned out…we could do both. So we did. The Rose tour was leaving just as we bought tickets, so we tailed along at the end of the group as our guide took us a few blocks from the Globe to a very modern looking office building. In the 1980s, when the office was being built, the builders uncovered the foundations of the Rose—what currently is the only surviving example of an Elizabethan theatre in the world.

There was fierce controversy over the fate of the remains. The builders wanted to build, and theatre, art, and history lovers (and celebrities) were willing to throw themselves into a bulldozer to prevent the remains from being destroyed. Eventually, a compromise was made: The builders would be allowed to put an additional three stories on top of the building if they build a sort of “basement” to house the Rose. And that’s exactly what it was. Our tour guide unlocked a door on street level and led us through a small room to a platform in a completely pitch dark room. Once there, he flipped on some red rope light that outline the shape of the foundations (the foundations are actually kept underwater to prevent remaining clay pipes from crumbling).

Though we couldn’t see much, it was still pretty amazing to be standing next to a sight where people would come to see plays over 400 years ago. Next, he led us a few more blocks down and showed us where the original location of The Globe was (it’s their best calculation based on the position of the Rose). The building currently over the site is itself a historical landmark and so there can be no excavation. But, he said, he doubted there would be anything there after all this time.

After the brief tour, Abbie and I killed the hour and a half till our tour of the theatre by looking at the exhibition that featured details on the history of the original Globe, authentic costume making processes, musical instruments, voice recordings of notable actors delivering Shakespeare, and the reconstruction of the new Globe (yay Sam Wanamaker!) By that time, our tour was ready to depart.

As we entered the Globe, taking seats on the second tier, we were able to watch the stage crew changing over the set from “Helen” a new play, to Romeo and Juliet. The theatre was beautiful and even though it is a reproduction, the details are just as ornate and perfect as they would have been in the original and it was amazing to think of what it would have been like to have heard Hamlet’s speech or seen the balcony scene or watch Lady Macbeth rub the blood off her hands for the very first time.

After the tour, we headed to the shop where we went a little bit all-out on souvenirs. Don’t worry, I refrained from buying the disturbingly cute “plague rat”…though I did buy a friend for Wagner! After shopping, we got an ice cream cone and ate it on Millennium Bridge (as seen on Harry Potter 6) before walking the short distance to the National Theatre and taking pictures with the Laurence Olivier statue outside. By that time, we were pretty much wiped, so we headed back to Adanna’s house.

After eating dinner, we decided to be proper young adults and go out on the town for some drinks. We took a bus over to Camden town to a bark along a canal where we only stayed for one or two drinks (they were out of pretty much everything on tap) and then moved to another bar with a nice beer garden. It was there where we saw the largest spider I’ve ever seen in my life. It was easily bigger than my palm and crawled out almost right next to me, causing me to shriek and hastily move my chair away (Abbie was freaking out too, don’t let her fool you). Some nice gents from the table over trapped it in a beer glass and tossed it outside the garden, saving the day.

By that time we were all feeling the drink a little so on the way home we stopped for Chinese food (and discovered their interestingly shaped eggrolls) and hungrily ate it before going to bed, feeling quite content with ourselves.

Day Forty-Six

Saturday, August 8th, 2009

Even though it had been decided that we were sleeping in, I still found myself waking up every once in awhile in the morning, as if afraid I had missed something deathly important or exciting. But we all finally woke up around ten in the morning, dragging ourselves out of bed and generally being lazy. Adanna cooked us up a “proper English breakfast” and refused our offers to help, saying…almost threateningly, “Everybody gets one.” And it was really, really good. A little bit later, after Abbie and I were ready, Adanna’s friend Lamia (I think that’s how you spell her name…don’t quote me on it) came over.

We were going to be going up to the Portobello Market that day and checking it out. Apparently it’s rather well-known, but neither Abbie nor I had ever heard of it before. It took another half hour for Adanna to finish getting ready, which is astonishing for the amount of clothing she usually wears (she herself admitted this). After that it was a bit of a walk to get to the market. After experiencing a gray, slightly damp day previous, it was nice to see the sun again. But that also meant it was rather warm outside…though nothing compared to mid-August California temperatures.

The market featured, among fruit and vegetables, clothes, sunglasses, handbags, and pretty much anything else you could think of. We stopped in a cute souvenir shop along the way and Adanna purchased a gift for her mortal enemy—the one we call James Dugan. We all bought a pair of sunglasses (they all went with cool aviator specs…I just bought a basic pair to replace my stolen sunglasses until I can get my hands on some Target ones. Mmm, Target).

After the market, we walked up to a local bar and grabbed a pint. There was a beer on tap called Früli that claimed to be a strawberry beer. I was intrigued and so was Lamia, so we both ordered it. And oh, was it good. It really did taste like strawberries more than beer. I don’t know if I’d want to drink it all the time since it was a little sweet, but it would definitely be a treat. After our pints, Lamia bid us goodbye and Adanna continued to lead us up the hill to see the Royal Court Theatre (home of Sarah Kane, etc.). At one point we got on a double decker bus. At one point we passed Harrod’s. We were all quickly losing energy and succumbing to the heat by now that by the time we reached the theatre, all we had energy to do was take a few pictures and wait in their downstairs bar while Adanna used the bathroom.

We caught a bus to go back up near Portobello, though walking may have been faster in the rush hour traffic. I fell asleep, and Abbie had to nudge me to wake up when we got off. We stopped for “proper fish and chips” in the words of Adanna, and even though she had never been to the place before, it was supposed to be really good. On the way, we met her hair dresser (random) and got our food to go, getting on another bus to take us home.

I am not afraid to admit that we completely vegged that evening, watching Southpark and Family guy while we mindlessly ate our food (it was good) and lying in front of the TV until late in the night. None of us could even summon up the energy to turn on a light when it got dark until we finally got up to go to bed.

Day Forty-Five

Friday, August 7th, 2009

Months ago when I was in the beginning planning stages of this trip, one of the first things I looked up were shows that were going to be playing in London while we were there. The next day, I think I burst into the green room, nearly tackled Abbie to the floor, and told her in one breathless sentence “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, they’re doing Waiting for Godot and guess who’s going to be in it?! PATRICK STEWART AND SIR IAN MCKELLAN!!!!!!” Abbie, though excited, didn’t share my slightly manic reaction to that particular nugget of information.

Initially, we were going to be touring Europe BEFORE starting our session in Ireland, thus allowing us to see the play, then closing sometime in July. However, after whining about wanting to spend my birthday in Chico (totally worth it by the way) we changed it to after Ireland, thus crushing the hope of ever seeing these two gods of acting perform live.

That is, until a few weeks ago when I discovered, as I had secretly been hoping all along, that the production had been extended and would be playing the first two days we were in London. “It’s happening,” I would say emphatically every time the subject of the play was brought up. We were going to get tickets. I was going to see these two men perform a Beckett play. Failure was not an option.

That was why, on a day when we had particularly nothing to do, after waking up early for the past week, after long days of travel, my alarm went off at 7 a.m. The show was sold out, naturally, but every day the theatre would release a certain number of tickets that they had held back. I hustled Abbie out of bed, quickly got dressed, and made sure we were on the Underground within a half hour. By the time we navigated our way from Piccadilly Circus, it was 8:15 (the box office opened at 10) and there was already at least 15 people queued up. I heard a rumor that there was only 10 tickets to go around, but tried to not let my spirits get dashed.

Abbie went to Café Nero (a better version of Starbucks) and got us breakfast while I held our place in line. The giant poster of the play hung over the theatre and seemed to taunt me mercilessly. The only consolation was that, unlike I had thought, there was still one more performance before the closing night, so we would have a second chance if our efforts failed that morning. And if so, I would be there at six in the morning the next day.

The box office opened and I felt my pulse racing as the line slowly stumbled into the foyer and everyone in front of me got tickets. Surely, I thought, there was no way we were going to manage this. It was finally our turn, and we went up to the teller, asking him if there were any more tickets for that night and not really wanting to know the answer.

“Yes,” he said. “In fact, we’ve still got the best seats in the house.”

Under pain of death, I will never admit how many Pounds I put down in that booth that day, but even now, it was still worth it. We got our tickets, I tucked it safely into my wallet, and feeling elated at a successful mission, we decided to head down further into central London. When we emerged from the tube station, we merely had to turn around to be confronted with the hulking image that was Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. Even though we were literally right next to the famous clock, Abbie and I both agreed that it seemed a little…less impressive and imposing as we had been expecting. To be sure, it was large and mighty and beautiful…but just not as much as we had been picture our whole lives.

We later decided that this was yet another case of Disney corrupting the minds of young children…in the scene where they are flying off to Neverland in Peter Pan, the children fly around Big Ben. And in that scene, Big Ben looks MASSIVE. Yet another Disney falsehood. But, putting aside all that, we crossed the River Thames in order to better photograph the clock and the Houses of Parliament. After walking the length of the building, we crossed back over and decided to head up to Westminster Abbey.

I’ve wanted to go there my entire life (okay, let’s face it, I’ve just wanted to go to London my entire life), and I admit The Da Vinci Code may have influenced me just a tiny, tiny bit. We bought our admission tickets and picked up our complimentary audio tour before really taking stock of the church. Let me be clear: Westminster Abbey, is not your average church. To begin with, it is CRAMMED FULL of marble statues, tombs, and decorations. There was even a little corner near the exit where it looked like they had just shoved all the large statues they couldn’t fit.

In addition to being crammed with of statues, it is also crammed full of history. Elizabeth I is buried there, along with Mary whom she had beheaded (they’re buried next to each other), a couple of the King Henry’s are there. Dukes, Duchesses, Lords, Ladies, Kings Queens, Handel, Charles Dickens organists, and the odd commoner all lie at rest in Westminster Abbey amongst plaques honoring Shakespeare, Laurence Olivier, Louis Carroll, Jane Austen, and the Bronte sisters. This is also the place where Elizabeth II—and every monarch before her—was given their crown. In King Henry’s Chapel, underneath the stunning lace-like ceiling, the Knights of the Order of Bath hold their meetings. Pausing halfway through our tour, Abbey and I took the Eucharist because…if you’re going to go to church and take communion, it might as well be in Westminster Abbey.

We literally spent nearly five hours in the church and I still feel like I didn’t fully appreciate it enough. But eventually, we called it quits and headed back to Adanna’s flat to rest and get changed for the performance tonight. Adanna, being the responsible person that she is, has a job and was therefore only really able to take us around for one day, just in case you were wondering. Her mum was there when we got back and made us a delicious dinner (really, they were all too sweet to us) before we headed back down to Piccadilly for the play.

And we really did have some of the best seats in the house—middle orchestra, slightly off to the right. The set was barren and slightly industrial looking, with a naked tree providing the only color on the stage. From the first moments when Sir Ian crawled out from behind a piece of set, I was absolutely spellbound. I may have a bit of an unhealthy fascination with Sir Ian (Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Action: WIZARD! THOU SHALT NOT PASS!), but that wasn’t why I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him onstage. He and Patrick Stewart both were breathtaking performers, but even Patrick Stewart had his moments where he looked a bit stiff—whereas even just standing staring out into the audience with his hands in his pockets, Sir Ian was awe-inspiring.

This, of course, strengthened my desire to get them to sign my poster after the play had ended. I nearly ran to the stage door, and much to my dismay, even though Abbie and I were some of the first people there, Sir Ian (dressed in his highly festive pajamas) was already halfway out the door and running to the awaiting van. Had I been a lesser person, I would have run tearing after him, begging for an autograph. But I had far too much respect for the man to belittle myself so, or even take a picture of his dramatic flee to add to my collection of Those Who Got Away (JAMES EARL JONES).

So, I was forced to accept the fact that it was just not meant to be, but at least I had gotten to see him. It was about another twenty minutes before the next actor emerged—Mr. Patrick Stewart. He was very personable and readily greeted and signed the programs and posters of everyone. I was stunned at what a low-key affair this was. Everyone was sort of mulling around, murmuring congratulations or best wishes. Had this been Broadway, there would have been barricades set up and people would be mobbing each other just to try and take a picture. I got the signatures of the other two actors, both of whom were equally as talented, just not fortunate enough to have the star-power name.

After all the excitement died down, we headed back to the tube and home to Adanna’s, where it was decided we would, mercifully, be sleeping in the next day.

Day Forty-Four

Thursday, August 6th, 2009

The day started out bright and early as Abbie and I woke up from our second night in the hostel. All things considering, it had actually been a very restful night of sleep. Even though it was only 8 a.m., most of the other people in the room had already left, leaving us plenty of space to repack our things for the move to London. Once packed and dressed, we headed down to the complimentary breakfast (still no sign of a toaster) and then went out on the town since we didn’t need to leave until around 1:30.

Though still early, it was already beginning to get hot and I was regretting once again the pair of shorts I had left behind in our suitcase in Dublin. Abbie’s goal for the morning was to procure a certain liquid of which type is only legally purchaseable in certain places, so we searched around for a store in which one buys such liquid. The supermarket, unsurprisingly, yielded no results, though she did buy batteries for her camera and they directed us to a nearby off-license.

While walking to the store, we discovered Dam Square (there may or may not be an extra A in there—I’m not really sure) which held a vast monument relating to something to do with Amsterdam, I’m sure. Interestingly, there was a calliope nearby that was playing music and oddly making the area feel sort of like Dutch Disneyland.

After finding said shop and procuring said liquid for a friend who should be eternally grateful (seriously, Abbie bought stuff for EVERYONE. I’m selfish and bought things for me. Love you all, but I am kind of #1 in my world). We still had a couple hours until we had to leave, so we mused about the canals for a bit before deciding to buy another hour of internet from the hostel.

At around 12:45, we grabbed our stuff and made the trek toward the metro. We actually had to buy a ticket this time, fair enough since we had ridden it the past two times for free. We arrived at Centraal Station (yes, there are supposed to be two ‘a’s) and had about a half hour until our train, so sat around on the platform until it came. I quite enjoy taking the train and was excited that we were finally able to take one during out journey. The cabin was cool and comfortable and the ride to Eindhoven seemed to take no time at all.

Once off the train at the station, it was once again hot and sticky and we quickly made our way down just in time to grab a bus to the airport. The Eindhoven airport may, honestly, be the smallest airport I’ve ever seen in my life. Literally, you are able to walk up to it. I admit, I slightly misjudged our travel time and we ended up having almost three hours to wait since Ryanair didn’t check in until an hour and a half before the flight. But we got through the wait somehow and boarded our plane to London Stanstead.

The flight was short and relatively uneventful. England was cold and cloudy when we landed, and even though it wasn’t any later than 8 p.m., it was already getting dark. Our bags were first off the carousel (seems we’re fortunate with that) and since most of the passengers were from the EU, we avoided a long line at passport control. I sailed through with relative ease, even though I put down the Holiday Inn as the address where I was staying (so sue me, I didn’t know Adanna’s address.) Abbie managed to get a stricter agent who gave her the third degree, wanting to know exactly which Holiday Inn she was staying at and to see her travel itinerary. When she whined that her friend who had all the information was already through, he let her go. We have since agreed that she is apparently the shadiest white girl alive.

We didn’t have to wait too long for the train from Stanstead into Liverpool Station, but by the time it came, it was already dark and raining. From Liverpool, we somehow managed to figure out how to buy an Underground ticket and made the two changes to get to Kilburn Park near where Adanna lives. By now, it was pouring, and when she came to meet us she was already soaked. I admit, after a long day of travel, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to roll my suitcase through the rain and puddles as we walked the ten minute walk to her house, but it wasn’t exactly like I had any other options. After arriving at her flat we set our things down, properly greeted one another and then went to bed in preparation for another early morning the next day.

Day Forty-Three

Wednesday, August 5th, 2009

For some reason which I no longer remember, we decided to wake up at the ungodly hour of seven a.m. to begin our day. Well, Abbie did at least. She woke me at around 8 when she was done showering (I had showered the night before), because she’s just thoughtful like that. We got ready and went down to the complimentary breakfast, which was pretty much cereal and bread (no really…there was no toaster. The Dutch are weird). After eating, we finished getting ready and walked around the area we were staying in for a bit before deciding to go to the van Gogh museum.

Even though pretty much everyone in Amsterdam speaks English, all the street signs are still in Dutch…making it infinitely harder to navigate when you can’t even pronounce the street you’re looking for. But, after a good half-hour walk, we finally found the van Gogh museum. And, after standing in the huge queue outside, we finally got in the van Gogh museum. It was really cool to see some of the paintings that have been revolving around my life for the past year after using that play about van Gogh for Dan’s design class and choosing one of his paintings for my scenic painting final.

The museum was ridiculously crowded and I often had to push through people just to see the painting. And, even though it had a lot of his work, only the first floor was dedicated to van Gogh. The rest was dedicated to other artists of the period who, while still pretty interesting, were not as cool as van Gogh (by the way, if you somehow get the urge to make a pilgrimage to see Starry Night, please be aware that it’s actually in the MOMA. You’ll save about $1000 by only flying to New York.)

After the museum, we walked back to our hostel to inquire about taking a canal boat tour. Turns out, the tour was right around the area where we just were, so we had no choice but to talk back. Along the way, we purchased sandwiches and ate them by a canal, where at one point we saw a guy drift by on what could only be explained as his living room on a barge. He even had a rope system set up to turn the rudder so he didn’t have to get off the couch. Truly the best ghetto-rig ever.

I don’t remember a whole lot of the canal tour, except for a bunch of pretty bridges, the Anne Frank house, and strangely enough…a pirate ship. As soon as I got on the boat, the gentle rocking put me to sleep. I’d wake up ever few minutes or so and take a picture before falling back into a sort of half-sleep where I thought I was having conversations with Abbie…but really wasn’t. So it was decided I needed a nap. After walking back to our hostel, Abbie took my computer to a nearby pub with free wifi and I took a nap for an hour and a half.

We met up and headed to the metro to go to Central Station for the Red Light District Tour (we figured this was the best option since A) we weren’t sure how comfortable we were venturing in there by ourselves, B) we didn’t know where it was, and C) It’s nice having people explain the importance and history of things as we look at them). Once again, we didn’t have to pay for the metro…though I think we may have inadvertently slipped by.

We left with nearly an hour to spare before the tour started and got there within ten minutes. It was nice to have the extra time, however, since we were able to purchase tickets to Eindhoven (the airport we’re flying out of to London) for the next day. Then…we pretty much sat in front of the tourist center where it was supposed to start.

And it was actually a pretty cool experience. Our dreadlocked tour guide, Steve, was from Australia and reminded me slightly of our tour guide Lorcan from back in Dublin…except hopped up on Red Bull (if the running across the street flailing his arms and screaming like a girl to prevent traffic from hitting us was any indication). He took us through all the parts of the District, showing us where the hardcore gay bars were (they don’t have windows…for the outsider’s protection), the Condomerie-where they had molded condoms with things like the Statue of Liberty, Big Ben, a scuba diver, etc. at the tip, and where the blue light district is (where they’re all women…from the waist up.)

In case you didn’t know, yes, prostitution is legal in Amsterdam. And how it all works is—literally—by window shopping. Girls in lingerie stand bathed in red light in all the windows of the Red Light District, trying to attract customers. Some even stand in opened doors…one even tousled the hair of our tour guide as we walked through Amsterdam’s smallest alleyway (single file line only). You may think that this sort of area would be a hotbed of crime, junkies, and all sorts of other sordidness. But it is actually probably safer than other parts of Amsterdam, since there are cameras everywhere and it is patrolled heavily by the police and independent security companies.

After the tour, we were all invited for a free shot at a bar back in the gay district (yay Amsterdam! And no, it wasn’t a gay bar). Abbie and I ordered food since we hadn’t eaten dinner and stayed to talk with Steve the Tour Guide, John—who also worked for the company and was from Wyoming, a nice couple from Australia, and two girls from London. Eventually, it was time to go to bed so we walked home (again, it’s actually a really safe place), went on the internet a bit more, and then went to bed early so we would have enough energy for our journey the next day.

Next stop: London and Adanna!

Day Forty-Two

Tuesday, August 4th, 2009

Tuesday began exceptionally early with us all waking up at 7 a.m. in order to get across Paris to the Eurolines bus station and buy a ticket for a bus to Amsterdam (remember, our train tickets didn’t exactly pan out). We were all incredibly exhausted from our two jam-packed days of sightseeing and our marathon in the metro the previous night. Somehow, we all managed to wake up and drag ourselves to get ready even though every muscle in our bodies ached.

We left Amanda’s apartment, dragging our luggage to train station; it seemed to take twice as long as normal with our big bags and heavy backpacks in tow. We got on the train from Bondy, stopping somewhere in Paris to transfer to another line. We had to ride the metro to the end of the line, and it was easily the longest metro ride of my life. Fortunately, we didn’t have to go far after getting off the train, since the station was connected to the bus station.

When we finally got to the ticket desk, we learned that our bus wasn’t leaving for another two hours, so we sat in the little coffee/gift shop and waited. We had bought a bunch of pastries and a baguette at a bakery earlier that morning, and, since we hadn’t eaten yet, we figured we now was as good of a time as ever. Due to being exhausted, I gracefully fell asleep at the table while Abbie and Amanda were talking, waking up a little bit before our bus left.

After using possibly the dirtiest bathroom in the world, Abbie and I said our goodbyes to Amanda and got on the bus for our…wait for it…eight hour trip to Amsterdam. After staring at the French countryside for about a half an hour (it kind of looks like Northern California…no joke) I finally succumbed and went to sleep. When I woke up, we were just on the outskirts of Brussels, the halfway point. After a debate about whether Brussels was in Germany or Belgium (it’s in Belgium) we got off the bus for a half hour break in which we got sandwiches, a bag of chips, and sodas from the supermarket across from the depot. We had just enough time to eat our sandwiches in the square somewhere in the middle of Brussels before getting back on the bus.

Once again, we both fell asleep. Turns out, sleeping really passes the time on an eight hour bus ride (to think: we could have flown from Dublin to Chicago in that time). When we both woke up, we stared out the window at the Dutch countryside as we entered Amsterdam. No there were no windmills. And no there were no people dancing in wooden shoes.

From the station in Amsterdam, we caught the metro (and when I say “the metro” I mean “THE” metro—there’s only one line in the whole city. The rest is above-ground trams. Something was wrong with the ticketing, so we didn’t have to pay for it, which was cool. We made it to the station and asked how to get to our hostel from there. It was relatively close, but still a god ten-minute walk dragging luggage behind us.

Our hostel was situated right along a canal, pretty much right next to the Red Light District (though we didn’t know this yet). We checked in and ended up being on the top floor, so I had the pleasure of carrying my heavy bag up four flights of stairs. Compared to chilly and rainy Dublin and moderately cool Paris, we were sweltering in Amsterdam, so we changed our clothes before walking around to explore the area. We ended up stopping at a fairly empty place to have a pint (Heineken is the beer of choice—heh) before walking back along the canal as it got dark. After going on the internet for a little bit (we had to pay by the hour) we decided we were both exhausted, since it was around 1 a.m., and went to bed.

Day Forty-One

Monday, August 3rd 2009

Once again, we woke up early and started our day eating baguettes and hard boiled eggs. We took the train into the city, this time coming up right in front of the absolutely amazing Paris Opera House. In case you didn’t know, this was the setting for Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera and the inspiration for subsequent crap-tastic Andrew Lloyd Webber musical/movie. Though the internet said tours were only offered on Wednesdays, we lucked out since apparently they were offered every day during the summer holidays.

With an hour and a half to spare before our tour started, we walked along the really expensive jewelry shops and looked in the windows (there’s a name for this place…but I forgot it). Cartier, Rolex, Chanel, Dior, etc. etc., won’t even let you IN their shop if you look too poor, so we had to settle for window shopping. After that, we walked along the back of the Louvre and got crepes from a take away stand (they were delicious). By that time, it was time for our tour so we headed back to the opera house.

And it was RIDICULOUS how ornate and gorgeous the opera house was. We explored the grand staircase, the foyer that was used as a ballroom, the former restaurant, and even got to sit in the house. Gold paint and leaf was everywhere and it was clear that no expense was spared in making the theatre look as glamorous as it could possibly be. (P.S. Yes, the chandelier was amazing. No, it’s never fallen.)

For a change of pace, we went from the opera to the red light district. Walking along sex shops and x-rated movie theatres, we came upon the Chat Noir café…you know, that poster of a black cat that everyone in the world seems to have? Toulouse-Lectrec used to hang out there and it’s a pretty famous café. I had an espresso there, so I can now say that I’ve sat and drank at Le Chat Noir.

Just up the street from that was the ever-infamous Moulin Rouge…which is nothing like the movie for all you people who have based your thoughts about the place on that. Yes, there is a red windmill. Yes, it was a famous cabaret. But that’s about it. We continued up the hill to le Sacre Coeur, or Sacred Heart, basilica. Since it is on top of the only hill in Paris, it is the highest point in the city and a huge tourist destination. We went inside, but the interior was pretty much like every other cathedral. And we weren’t allowed to take pictures. Which was mean.

We walked by an art market on our way down the hill to the metro, and found the café from the movie Amelie (I’ve never seen it. Yes, I know I’m a bad person). We took the metro to Notre Dame…but it had closed ten minutes before we got there. I was a little sad I wouldn’t be able to go in it, but that’s more of a reason to come back, right? After that, we went to a really pretty church by a very modern-looking mall while we waited for Amine to come join us for dinner.

Though he speaks only a little English, we managed to communicate pretty well while we ate our couscous and various meats. After dinner, we all took the metro back to the Eiffel Tower, which by now was lit up in all its glory. If it is impressive in the day, the tower is nothing but awe-inspiring at night when it is all lit up. After taking lots of pictures, we went to get in line to go up. Amine had to go catch the last train to his brother’s, so it was just us girls once again.

Unfortunately, the very top of the tower was closed by the time we got there (probably due to overcrowding), so we had to settle for the second level. But another reason to come back, right? It was still really impressive and Abbie and I took a lot of pictures before calling our parents to brag. We had to leave fairly quickly after that to avoid missing the last train home. At our orientation, they mentioned we would end up running places but until now, none of that had happened.

But we were literally sprinting to metros that night. We made the first one with a few seconds to spare, but the second, in which we were running completely full-out to get to, Amanda pushed open the doors right as they were closing in what could only be described as a superwoman-esque move. But we made the last train and, exhausted, got back to her apartment about one in the morning. We had some disappointing news: A) we got the email about budget cuts in the theatre department and B) our train tickets we had bought online hadn’t got processed since the fare we selected apparently didn’t apply anymore. So after some stress and frantic research, we decided to wake up early in the morning and try and get a bus to Amsterdam rather than a train because it was about a quarter of the price. Now exhausted, we all fell asleep almost immediately.

Next stop: Amsterdam

Day Forty

Sunday, August 2nd 2009

Our first real day in Paris began bright and early as Abbie, Amanda, and I woke up, got showered, and ate baguettes (because it was Paris. Duh.) We then walked to the train station near Amanda’s house. She technically lives just outside of what is officially considered Paris, but it was only about a fifteen minute train ride into the city. Our first sight was the gorgeous Notre Dame Cathedral. I admit, after seeing that ridiculous Disney cartoon, I excpected it to be gargantuan, but it was actually fairly normally sized.

After that, we walked along the banks of the Seine. I guess I was expecting tiny, winding streets with cafes on either side and fancy little frou frou shops all over the place, but Paris is just as metropolitan as New York or Dublin. As we walked along the Seine towards the Musee Orsee, we actually ran into two of the girls from our USAC trip, proving that Walt Disney was right and it is, actually, a small world after all.

Since it was the first Sunday of the month, all the museums were open to the public. Yes, you may be wondering why we didn’t immediately go to the Louvre and gawk at the tiny Mona Lisa, but the Musee Orsee was so much better (by the way, I’m way too lazy to deal with accents. Deal with it.) Inside the museum, we looked at all the marble statues featured. Amanda introduced us to the “Statue Game” in which one recreates the pose with props et al. We went further along to look at impressionist paintings before going upstairs to look at the Master’s.

It was as if my education at CSU Chico was staring me at the face. At one corner was the giant, wall-sized painting by Gustave Courbet that Dr. Katie shows in her THEA 350 class. Further along, I was visited by the ghosts of scenic painting past. Monet, Degas, van Gogh (mine), The Floor Strippers (Abbie’s) all stared at me from the wall. I spent way too much time staring at the Starry Night Over the Rhone, which was my painting. And Dan, after having seen the actual painting and stood on the bridges in Paris seeing the same sights van Gogh did…I finally got it. A little late, I know.

After the museum, we stopped to eat our egg salad sandwiches we packed for lunchon one of the bridges on Paris. Then, we walked over to the Tuilleries in front of the Louvre where some big carnival was going on. I, having read The da Vinci Code on too many times, begged to walk up to the Louvre to see the giant pyramid. So we did. And I was a little sad Tom Hanks wasn’t standing there with his terrible mullet haircut.

After the Louvre, we did a literall about-face and walked towards the Arc de Triumph along the Champs Elysee, supposedly the most famous street in the world and built so Napoleon could quickly move troops through the city. After reaching the Arc de Triumph, we hopped on the metro towards the Eiffel Tower. We had caught glimpses of it so far throughout our day, and I was feeling kind of bummed because it wasn’t quite as big as I was expecting it to be.

But after a quick stop at a coffee shop, we approached by the back way (i.e. not from the huge green in front of it) and as soon as we came around the corner…there it was. Huge and mighty. Originally built for the World’s Fair, it was never intended to be a permanent structure. But could you imagine Paris without the Eiffel Tower? It was a truly amazing sight to behold and we walked all the way under it before deciding to come back later to go to the top.

After the Eiffel Tower, Amanda took us to the Jewish Quarter of Paris to get the falafels she had been talking about ever since she returned from her study abroad trip two years ago. And, it was totally worth all the hype. Though there were many falafel stands in that particular area, that one was clearly superior as evidenced by huge line in front of it. We sat in a park to enjoy our falafel and Abbie was almost attacked by a pigeon.

After digesting our food, we walked towards the Seine once more, seeing the luxurious Hotel de Ville (which is not actually a hotel). We sat on one of the many bridges spanning the Seine, just relaxing and waiting for the lights on the Eiffel Tower to come on. They did, gradually instead of the instantaneous show of light I had been hoping for. It’s apparently a little known fact that on the hour, the Eiffel Tower actually sparkles. It’s true, I swear. We waited until 10 p.m. to see the sparkly (everyone within eyesight of the tower goes “ooooh”), and even though we had originally intended on going to the top that night, we decided to call it a day and save it for tomorrow.

Day Thirty-Nine

Saturday, August 1st 2009

The day started bright and early as if Ireland was taunting us with the sun. Abbie and I were the only ones left in our apartment and were making final adjustments to packing. We had decided to leave a suitcase behind in Dublin full of things we didn’t need while we traipsed around Paris, Amsterdam, and London. Ryanair will seriously rip you off if you go over their weight limit (33 pounds) and since Abbie was bordering on 50lbs when we came here, this was probably a very smart idea.

We headed down to the teal projects to see if we could see any of our friends for one last time and ran into Kate, Lisa, Romi, and James. We talked to them for a few minutes before calling a taxi to take us downtown to the bus station. I quickly realized that, though I had followed my friend’s advice in picking Bus Eirann, it didn’t actually go to the airport. Rather, it went to the central bus stop in Dublin where we would then have to catch the airport shuttle. Citylink was also cheaper and may or may not have had wireless internet.

Anyway, Abbie and I waited at the bus station for a little over an hour, taking breaks so we could go visit the Saturday market one last time. To our horror and dismay, the donut guy, purveyor of deliciousness, wasn’t there (probably at the races). So while I was there, I picked up some croissants for Abbie and I to eat.

The bus ride wasn’t terribly exciting…four hours driving across the Irish countryside gets a little boring after a while. Abbie, of course, slept the whole time. I wrote a little in my blog, stared out the window for a long time, and finally managed to sleep a little right as we reached outer Dublin. It felt like only yesterday since we had been in Dublin, and we pointed out the familiar sights as we drove past them. Once at the station, we grabbed our stuff and got on the airport shuttle.

Once at the airport, we checked in the bag we were leaving with the Greencaps (who didn’t actually wear green caps), and checked in to Ryanair. Both our bags made the weight requirement (yay!) and so we headed through security and to our gate, where we had about two and a half hours to wait. Eventually we got dinner, then sat and waited for our flight (a lot of travelling is waiting, I’ve learned).

Once on the plane, we met a girl from Georgia who was flying (for the first time, no less) to Paris and Italy with her friend. I eventually fell asleep sometime after we flew over England and was awoken as we were making our final descent. One of the reasons Ryanair is so cheap (in addition to being bag weight Nazis) is that they don’t actually fly into major airports. Ours, for instance, was an hour away from Paris proper. Fortunately, there was a shuttle that took us to Porte Maillot in the city, where we were met by…Amanda, her fiancé, and her fiance’s brother! Who had a car. And drove us to their home. Which was super, super sweet.

Amine was staying at his brother’s while we were there, and soon after we arrived at Amanda’s apartment (it was about 1:30 a.m. by now) we were exhausted, so we ate a baguette and went to sleep.

Hey, it was France. And we like to eat when we are le tired.

Day Thirty-Eight

Friday, July 31st 2009

Though it was inevitable, none of us could really believe it was our last night in Galway. The next day, we would all be spread around different parts of Europe, or in the case of a few, headed back home already. I’m really sorry to say that I didn’t do anything terribly momentus on my last day in Ireland. In the morning, Abbie and I went to the print lab to print out the boarding passes for all of our Ryanair flights, then booked our bus tickets to Dublin the next day.

After two days of great weather, it was once again raining, perhaps trying to help convince us to leave for better climates. We got lunch from the small store since we no longer had food and soon after we had finished eating it, it was time for Val to leave with her father, The Colonel, who had arrived earlier that morning. We were all sad to see her go, but she was quite excited to be headed to five-star hotels in Paris after spending a month in our dump of a place.

Around two, Abbie and I went to Centra and got some beer that she supposedly owed some of the other girls. There was supposed to be a big party in “the projects” (the teal bulding where a lot of our group was staying), but the rain put a slght damper on that. Eventually, Abbie and I ended up in Scott’s apartment, drinking with him and Ricky—who was already drunk and yelling things out the window to the girls from housekeeping. (Serves them right for not taking out our trash for three days and leaving us with no toilet paper.)

After a while Niall and his roommates came over. Soon, however, it was time to head into town for the end of program banquet. Since it was raining, a few of us got in line for the shuttle into town super early, since we knew the mean lady was driving who wouldn’t let anyone stand in the back. We made it into town and quickly found the hotel where our banquet was at. I had become the biggest doubter of the quality of goods and services provided by USAC, but this was actually a welcomed surprise. Three courses with formal silverware settings, etc. I had steak and some of the most delicious shrimp I have ever tasted.

After dinner, there was lots of hugging, and most of us went around the corner to O’Connell’s, where it was already packed on account of race week. We were especially excited when Quigs, Caoilfhionn, and Jason decided to come out with us as well. As it got darker, it got more and more crowded, so James, who apparently magically knows everything about Ireland, took us all to a small local pub where we could better socialize.

I thought it was extremely fitting that I began my trip to Ireland sitting in Kennedy’s, a small local pub in Dublin, and ended it in one much the same in the Central Bar in Galway. I was already tired and knew I had a full day of travel ahead of me, so Kristin and I left a little early, stopping at Supermac’s so I could finally, finally have the hot muffin and ice cream we’d been talking about since arriving in Galway five weeks earlier. I took a cab home and, after looking over my packing and writing a little in this blog (yes, I know I’m terribly behind—shut up), I went to bed for the last time under Irish skies.

Next stop: Paris and Amanda

Days Thirty-Four—Thirty-Seven

Monday, July 27th 2009—Thursday, July 30th, 2009

Unfortunate as it was, Monday marked the beginning of our last week in Galway. Though all of us seemed determined not to mention that fact, impending exams and essays did not let us forget that the end was, indeed, near. It at least had the decency to rain while I was cooped up inside on Monday writing my theatre essay due the next day. Yes, I procrastinated. So did everyone else. And you do too. Don’t judge. Anyway, the day was spent writing my essay, eating Tim Tams, watching iCarly with Val, and eating lots and lots of food.

Tuesday began with grand intentions to begin and finish my essay for the evil music class…and guess how that went. After theatre class, I’m pretty sure I went back to the apartment and watched more TV with Val…though I could have very well gone into town (I don’t remember precisely and Abbie apparently wasn’t keeping track of my every move). When Abbie came home from the computer lab from working on her paper due the next day, one of us somehow came up with the idea that it would be a really good idea to get drunk that night.So off we went to Centra to buy a bottle of vodka. After a snafu where they actually carded Abbie and Val and Val didn’t have her I.D., we went across the street to Topaz where they’re realistic people and don’t ask to see any. So we each made a toast, taking a shot each time. That’s three shots, right? Remember this, it will come back to haunt us. We all decided we were feeling the alcohol really quickly and wondered how ¾ of our bottle was gone already…so decided the smartest idea would be to go buy another bottle.

We all blacked out sometime around 11:00. I later found pictures on my camera I don’t remember taking…as well as video. Facebook messages and statuses appeared that none of us remember posting. (Though the single ladies post by Val was explained by one of the videos we later found). Needless to say, we all spent considerable amount of time with the toilet and were all not feeling very well the next day—Abbie the worst off of us. That was when we made the discovery that the glasses we were using to take shots…were actually double shots. Meaning that we had started by initially taking six shots straight instead of three like we had thought. And how we managed to finish all two bottles…vodka was a bad choice.

Despite that we were all feeling a little queasy, I went to the last movie USAC was showing…a sort of Dublin-esque Blues Brothers except with soul music and less car chases and sunglasses. Afterwards, I became really bitter because it was the first sunny day Galway had had in a while…and I was stuck inside writing my 1500 word paper on sean-nos singing for the evil music class. I pretty much wrote right up until I had said class (the paper was due the next day), went to class, then decided it was a good idea to go out to the Spudhouse (really delicious potatoes) to eat. Then I returned home and, while watching TV, somehow managed to finish my essay.

Thursday was exam day for me in both of my classes. After our theatre final (in which we had to write an essay from the many choices offered to us using the plays we had read as an example), Abbie and I went in to town to document it and enjoy the walk for one last time. It was another gorgeous day and I somehow convinced her to go with me into the cathedral to check it out.

Remember how I have this thing with churches? This one was absolutely breathtaking. Yes, it was only built in the 70s, but it was still gorgeous. As we walked in to the cavernous cathedral, someone was playing the organ. Something about being in a giant church with the rainbow reflections off the stained glass windows, staring up at a crucifix, and listening to pounding organ music in my ears somehow led to the closest thing to a cathartic religious moment as I will ever have.

After my church geekiness, we continued into town and walked all down Shop Street, having lunch at McDonagh’s before walking to the Claddagh, then all the way back up. We stopped into shops so Abbie could souvenir browse (MJ, she got you something good) and then walked back to campus. Since I had about an hour and a half until my music final, we decided it was a good idea to stop at the College Bar and get a Guinness. Then I went off to my music final, which was the most bullshit thing I’ve ever written in my life.

That night, we all went out to Monroe’s. What started as a huge group somehow dwindled even though we were eventually joined by Quigs, Caoilfhionn, and Jason. It was a good night, though a few people definitely got a little too intoxicated a little too fast. I got the Galway Hooker glass I’d been wanting ever since I’d come there. A few of us decided to call it an early night, and after getting burgers and chips, most of them decided to cab it back. But since it was such a beautiful night, I decided to walk home along the canal with Scott. And it really was a great walk…for the first time, I didn’t seem to mind it at all (though that might have been due to me having curry fries). And as well it should have, since it did turn out to be my last walk home from a pub in Galway.

Days Thirty-One—Thirty-Three

Friday, July 24th 2009—Sunday, July 26th, 2009

Friday started out about as ordinary as you could imagine. I slept in, it was a little overcast, and I was still procrastinating on the fact that I had two 1500 word papers due the next week, despite the fact that I had to go in at 11:30 to talk to Caoilfhionn about mine.

After my meeting with Caoilfhionn, I caught the 1:00 shuttle into town. The Galway Arts Festival was coming to a close, and I knew this would be my last chance to go and look at the art exhibitions. And, since no one wanted to come with me (including Abbie…such a disappointment to Dan Schindler), I went by myself. There were a few different galleries housing works, but the majority of them were in the festival office itself.

So I headed there. The ground floor featured two artists, mostly abstract painters. Though I normally don’t like that sort of thing, I actually really liked one of the artist’s work, and had not the smallest of his paintings been 600 Euro, I would have liked it a lot more. But the real moving part of my trip to see art was the exhibition on the first floor about child soldiers. About six or so photographers had collaborated on the project, photographing what were sometimes very graphic scenes of child soldiers in Vietnam, Ghana, and other countries.

After a quick souvenir trip, I headed back home. Later that evening, Abbie and I went to go see Furioso, a production by the Australian company Circ. It was movement-based theatre…kind of like Cirque du Soleil except without all the spectacle and flying about. My favorite parts of the show where the part with rope work (where they tangle themselves up in it…you know what I’m talking about), and a trapeze number with the two women of the company that was just breathtakingly gorgeous.

Saturday, I had grand plans to get up early and go to the library to get books for my essay. My body, however, decided to sleep in. By the time I got ready, I was able to catch the 12:00 shuttle into town to visit the market. Though I was originally planning on going by myself, I met some of my friends on the shuttle and hung out with them. I was only at the market for a short while, however, since I was determined to see the matinee of Midsummer despite the fact that it was sold out.

I arrived at the theatre a full hour ahead of curtain, hoping there would be at least one last-minute ticket available. They had two. So I happily shelled out the money for it and waited around until the house opened. I think that may have been the best money I have spent thus far in my trip because the play was absolutely phenomenal.

As they had done in Merchant, the cast created all their own music, singing, playing instruments, and in this show, blowing on harmonicas and creating a really creepy and ethereal feeling. The play began in a very CSU Chico Night Music-esque way with the cast of characters dancing around in a blue mist as Puck handed out various items of costuming and bade them to assume their roles. It was the exact same cast as Merchant and it was interesting to see the differences in character roles. Puck, for instance, was played by Jessica, Antonio moved to Bottom, Shylock to Oberon, Narissa’s husband to Hermia, the Duke to Helena, etc. etc.

The play used the element of magic throughout the performance, performing slight-of-hand tricks such as making a character appear or reappear as if by magic. The entrance of Oberon and Titania was particularly fantastic—they had been sitting on two benches over the entrances of the stage on either side, shrouded by cloth the entire time (even in pre-show). And though I knew they were there, it was still amazing to see them revealed.

The ending scene with the play-within-the-play just got more and more ridiculous. Portia went on to play a mechanized sort of Wall (with sound effects). Puck doubled as Moon, and was hilarious as he furiously drug his dog (on wheels) around, getting it tangled around other characters and finally turning to it and yelling “SIT!”. But Bottom/Pyramus’s death scene took the cake. While stabbing himself with a plunger (supposed to be his sword), he got a little too in to it and the rubber end flew off and into the audience! It made it all the way back to my row, and at the urging of Lysander, the guy on the end of the row threw it back up on stage where they quickly put it back on with “in character” mutterings about how no one noticed.

I don’t know how much of it all was planned (certainly not the plunger bit), but I was nearly in tears by the end of it. Helena looked almost like he was going to break character a few times. It was a truly wonderful play and I’m so glad I was able to see both of them.

Sunday once again started out with the notion that I was going to do my paper…and once again it didn’t happen. Instead, I went with Scott and Baby Niall to go see Harry Potter (FINALLY). I won’t bore you with discussion of the movie since none of you live under rocks and have therefore probably seen it. But I will just say I was significantly less disappointed than I thought I would be.

While walking back, Galway decided once again to begin pouring and I got soaked…not good because I had to go see another play in about an hour and a half. So I booked it back to Corrib Village, changed, and then practically had to run to get to the church on time (I know, that sounds so cliché, but the performance—a staged reading—was really in a church). It was a bunch of people from the Druid reading excerpts from Synge’s life and writings…and I feel like a terrible person for saying this, but I was actually bored out of my mind and fell asleep. Please don’t judge me.

Afterwards, I went out with a couple of people to get crepes, because I was starving and there’s a delicious crepe place on Shop Street, before going to the King’s Head. I was pretty tired and decided to go after about two pints and Baby Niall, forever the gentleman, walked me home.

And that concludes not only the Arts Festival, but my last weekend in Galway. Terribly sad, I know.

Day Thirty

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Let me just preface this by saying that I know what you’re going to say: “Oh my god, Megan, you spent all that money and went all the way to Ireland and you sat in a theatre just like you do at home?” And the short answer to that…is yes. Yes, I did. The longer answer, however:

Abbie had talked to Caoilfhionn about getting involved in something technical for the Galway Arts Festival and I had sort of latched myself on to that. She made some calls and somehow got us hooked up with a company named Propeller who were producing the all-male productions of Merchant of Venice and Midsummer. Though we weren’t going to be doing anything crazy like helping out backstage, they invited us to come watch the turnover from one show to another (they were performing them in rep).

And honestly, even if it meant being at the theatre at 9 a.m., we were going to do it. Because that’s just something you don’t pass up. We arrived bright and early at the theatre, meeting up with Kevin, who was the liaison between the Town Hall Theatre in Galway and Propeller. He introduced us to the crew (a few guys standing around with cups of coffee) and told us to just take a seat in the audience. We did so, and looked at the massive set on stage.

The three walls completely boxed in the performing area of the stage and stretched as high as the proscenium arch. Since this was the set from Midsummer, it was covered in this white, crepe paper-like material. There were Victorian style garden chairs attached in a line to what we would later learn was a second level and were a good eight feet or so above the floor (the actors could actually walk/crawl on them).

So Abbie and I watched them change over the set, which meant getting rid of said chairs and white covering, revealing the gritty looking bars of the jail set for Merchant (yes, it was set in a jail). Some of the electricians removed a damaged moving light from above the proscenium using the time-tested method of lowering it by a rope.

So, basically, I watched exactly what I do in Chico.

But it was so much cooler because this was an actual professional company. Based in Britain (though without an actual definite location), Propeller is known for their all-male Shakespeare productions. These two shows in particular, the TD later told me when I got to talking with him, had been touring the world for eight months. Galway was, in fact, their second-to-last stop. He also told me that they had two separate sets, one for Europe and one for USA/Japan…and told me an interesting story of how the company when to Japan, but their set, which they had put on a boat from New York…went to China.

As soon as they brought out the light board to begin adjusting the moving lights, Abbie naturally edged her way over there and actually got to mess around with the controls while Richard, the lighting realizer (i.e. he just duplicates what the designer did in each space they go) checked things on stage.

As the afternoon progressed, we got more familiar with Richard and the TD (whose name I unfortunately don’t remember), sitting back at the light board and joking around. After a quick lunch break at Supermac’s, Abbie and I returned to watch a tech rehearsal with the actors. And by “tech rehearsal”, I mean the actors just kind of stumbled through their places while mumbling something resembling their lines while anyone not in the immediate focus of action usually passed gas and caused anyone near them to choke and collapse in laughter (yes, professional actors…they ARE men…and have been doing this for eight months).

We eventually had to leave because I had to go to my dreaded music class, but we promised to catch them later when we saw the show that evening. And let me tell you, the show was AMAZING. Each actor, despite whatever they had done at the “tech” earlier, was completely on and in character…and seeing the all-male approach was outstanding. They didn’t try to hide the fact that they were male…there was no stuffing or padding or wigs…the actors merely wore feminine clothing and heels.

After the show, Abbie and I went upstairs to the bar and had a drink while the cast and crew slowly trickled in. We talked to one actor named John who played the “jailor” (who I think was really a servant in Shakespeare, but whose character name I don’t know…yes I’m a terrible person, I know.) We also talked to the actor who played a brilliant Antonio (and later Bottom, but I’ll get to that in another entry) and was just about the sweetest guy there could be. We caught up with Richard and some of the other crew before saying our goodbyes and heading home for sleep after our long day.