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.
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