Céad Míle Fáilte A blog from Cork, Ireland
by Kerry Esrey

Nineteenth Century American Literature

Confession: I already took this class at UCLA (under a slightly different name…do you think they’ll notice?). We are focusing on how the authors of the time alluded to the contrasting ideals and realities of the United States. As my professor said on the first day, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal…except slaves, women, and Native Americans.” It is certainly fun to learn about America overseas. 

Seventeenth Century British Literature

About as exciting as it sounds. No more, no less. 

Evolution of the Horror Genre

An English seminar in which we read Dracula and Edgar Allen Poe and watch all kinds of horror movies. I have never really given the horror genre a chance and it has been fun and fascinating to try something new! We have a presentation at the end of the semester on any contemporary horror film that we haven’t covered in class. A few weeks ago, a fabulous yet impossible idea dawned on me when I was sitting in class. It was worth a try to ask, so after class I approached my professor.

“I know this is a long shot, but would it be okay if I focused on horror in music for my presentation…particularly the impact of Michael Jackson’s Thriller video?”

To my surprise and delight, my professor responded, “I would love that!”

Oh. My. Goodness. Gracious. SCORE.

Irish Geography

The best thing about this class? Over the course of the semester, we take two walking field trips around Cork city to discuss when and why streets, buildings, and monuments were built. We already had field trip #1 and it was great to learn so much about the city in which I am living. The worst thing about this class? The stools we have to sit on during class are tiny. And square. Not round. Surface area of stool < surface area of arse = two hours of extreme discomfort.

Irish History for Visiting Students

For this class, we have a different professor every two weeks. The first professor was excellent. The second was…long-winded. I don’t think he breathed. The third (we had him for the first time today) is funny (and his name is Donal!)

Gaelic for Visiting Students

Such an amazing class. We are learning quickly, but so far it has not been too terribly difficult! I absolutely love learning the language, and the literal translations never cease to crack me up. (The Gaelic for “excuse me” would literally translate to “excuse my half story”…of course). My teacher is the best. She gets so excited about everything and always tells us funny stories. (Like how the first time her aunt saw the horse races on television she got up and ran away because she thought the horses were going to trample her). I am so happy that the university offers Gaelic!

Our Galway adventure didn’t end with the Cliffs of Moher. On both Friday and Saturday nights we went to the same pub: a very popular joint called The King’s Head. Both nights featured excellent bands. On Friday, we mostly stayed upstairs and watched the band below. But on Saturday (after sleeping on the tour bus and chowing down on some Chinese food we were back in action), being old veterans of the King’s Head, we felt no qualms in venturing downstairs and, positioned squarely in front of the band, joined in on the singing and dancing. Eventually, most of my friends got tired of dancing and retired to a table nearby. I, however, was stubbornly unwilling to give up my prime spot right in front of the band, so I decided to at least endure one more song.

Throughout the night, we had enjoyed watching the antics of the ladies attending a Bachelorette Party, or “Hen Party,” as they call it here. It was beyond evident that…someone had replaced the water the chicken coop with something stronger… and the hot pink feathered boas that the hens were wearing only added to the comedy as they make complete fools of themselves. Suddenly, the crowd parted between the hens and I (I was now standing alone). Mother hen made eye contact and started clucking towards me. The other chicks followed. Before I knew what was happening, Mother Hen had thrown her pink boa around me and started shimmying me about. Oh dear, how did this happen? What could I really do but play along? Now that had I had some hot pink feathers on, apparently I was a hen too. The other hens swarmed and, standing on either side of me, started taking pictures with me. Then, almost as quickly as they had come, Mother Hen snatched back her boa and they all clucked away. My friends who had witnessed this scene unfold couldn’t handle it. I got away none the worse for wear, except that one of the less stable hens had stiletto-ed my foot. Damn talons. 

Oct 23rd, 2010 3:14pm

Two weekends ago (I am playing major catch-up…but I am determined), about 15 friends and I went to Galway, a small city on the western coast. The plan? Stay in a hostel, wander around the city, take a tour to the Cliffs of Moher, and have as much fun as possible. This trip marked my first time ever staying in a hostel and I enjoyed it immensely. Each room had five bunk beds, so our gang took up the entirety of one room and spilled over into a second room. I was in the room completely dominated by our group and needless to say, we got very little sleep. It felt like summer camp… with no counselor to tell you to be quiet and go to sleep. Wonderful and exhausting, (but far more wonderful than exhausting).

On Saturday morning, we set out for the bus station to catch our tour bus to the Cliffs of Moher. Three of our friends went early to the station because they still had to purchase their tickets. We ended up accidentally getting on a different bus than they did, so (a few minutes before we were to depart) I asked the driver what we could do. A nice man who worked there was walking by and told me he would take me to the bus that “the missing three” had boarded. Together, the man and I climbed onto the second bus and before I could motion for my friends to come with me, he put his hand over my head and yelled to the full bus, “WHO DOES SHE BELONG TO?” Unnecessary Irish theatrics make for some very awkward moments. At least we all got on the same bus.

It is impossible that our tour guide could have been more precious. An elderly yet spunky Irishman named Desmond, he has been doing the Moher tour 6 days a week for the past 16 years. He joked, he sang, he informed, he kept talking to himself for a solid five minutes after his microphone died because he didn’t notice. Before we reached the windy part of the drive, he told us this encouraging anecdote:

There were two men waiting at St. Peter’s gate. One was a priest and the other, a bus driver named Desmond. When St. Peter asked the priest what he did to get into heaven, the priest told him to devoted his life to God and to the people. After refusing to let him in the gates, St. Peter talked to Desmond. When he heard that Desmond was a driver to the Cliffs of Moher, he let him without hesitation. The priest wanted to know why this man got in so easily, to which St. Peter replied, “In your church, you don’t reach the people; they fall asleep and cease to pray. When Desmond drives over the passage to the Cliffs, everyone on the bus is praying as hard as they ever have that they will get out alive.”

Of course, the drive was not as bad as Desmond cracked it up to be and he handled the road expertly, dear man. 

The Cliffs themselves were nothing short of magical. (But then, it is where the cave scene from the 6th Harry Potter is filmed (!) ) We had a solid two hours to wander around and take in the spectacular views, but I could have used all day. Standing even remotely close to the edge is breathtaking and horrifying all at once. 600 feet is no short drop. Yikes. The scenery is so gorgeous that it feels surreal…you are seeing but not believing.  From the moment we climbed into the bus and Desmond began the drive back to Galway, I was already longing to go back. 

Oct 23rd, 2010 2:07pm