A New Semester, A New Start
Trip Start
Aug 25, 2011
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Trip End
Aug 25, 2012
Limerick, County Limerick, Ireland
Thursday, February 9, 2012
First, I have to tell you about my return from Turkey, leaving a land of exoticism and entering a land of familiarity. By the way, I never thought in my life I would be calling a country different than the USA familiar, but here we are! If you thought LAX was the most nightmarish of all airports, boy are you wrong. The body scan doohickeys have nothing on the Attaturk airport security. A little shuttle bus picked me up from my hostel at 5:50am, which I thought was paranoid-ishly early for my 9:30 take off time. I get to the airport, grab my bag, and plan on drinking my giant bottle of water and sipping on coffee and eating muffins before my check-in counter opens. As I entered through the sliding doors, I was greeted immediately by a queue – a long, disorganized, groggy-faced filled queue – for a security check point. Already! They made us scan everything, including giant suitcases that we want to check. I stand in line, take off all my things, boots, 12 layers of clothes, scarves, remove laptop and liquid things from carry on, the whole ordeal. I go through security, put everything back on, THEN have my coffee and muffins before the window opens. I thought I was all check-in security free, but I was a bit confused when I couldn’t sit in my gate. I had to sit outside in the hallway as a crowd formed, also standing around or sitting awkwardly outside the gate. At last, we were called in. This is the point where normally you have already passed security (which I already had), so you can more or less walk onto the plane with your brain turned off. Which is what I tried, but as I rounded the corner, what! Another security line? This one was a miniature little bugger, set up only for the people trying to board our little plane. The plane, by the way, was much smaller than I planned, especially for a 4.5 hour flight (which ended up being far far longer since we sat on the tarmac for an hour). I took off my shoes and 12 layers of clothes again, took out my liquids again, and went through the whole ordeal again. One poor girl couldn’t take on her drink that she had just bought inside the airport. I wasn’t the only disgruntled person. I flew over Europe, rather excitedly as we hit loads of turbulence (I played Benjamin Britten’s "Storm" from his opera Peter Grimes) and flew over the snowy Alps (I played Edvard Grieg’s “Morning Mood” from Peer Gynt. Corny, but totally appropriate). I exited the plane at London Heathrow, my most favorite airport in the world, and by most favorite, I mean least. It’s awful. Well, not as bad as LAX, but far more chaotic. Fond memories of my overnight stay flooded over me. Have you ever washed up in an airport bathroom? Soap, washcloth, tooth brush, make-up, lotion, baby powder, the whole nine yards? I have, that time I came through here as I began my adventure. SO MUCH FUN. Because Heathrow is so large, I had to take a shuttle from my arrivals terminal to another terminal for departures. I shared the shuttle with a rather large but pleasant man. He struck up an immediate conversation with me. Irish. I was home (well, almost). It felt so good to be speaking in fluent English with someone not afraid to make small talk, for no reason except that we were the only two people on the bus. I have (almost) returned to the land of sociable people. As if two bouts of security weren’t enough, I had to go through yet another one, even though there was no way for me to get to this spot without already coming from an airplane. It’s ludicrous. Off came the shoes and 12 layers of clothes. And on again. And waiting in another terminal. And walking for miles and miles to get to my gate. Back on Aer Lingus, back to Shannon airport. Off at that little, no-frills airport. I had bought a return ticket with JJ Kavanagh, the bus that goes directly from Shannon to UL when I came to Shannon a month earlier, but the last one in 5 hours left not 15 minutes before I scurried off the plane. Grouchy face. Watch me buy a ticket from them again. I boarded Bus Eireann instead, buying a new ticket, was dropped in Limerick city, found the Castletroy bus, and bought another bus ticket. Thanks, JJ Kavanagh, for a whole lotta nothing. When I finally stepped off at UL, I finally felt, well, home. Fresh air, a little drizzly, fun accents. I found my room, and slept.
And thus begins a new semester at the University of Limerick. Besides a few interesting seminars, concerts, and the same fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants schedule, the last three weeks have been rather uneventful. I made it that way on purpose because my main goal was to recover from an epic vacay. My other goal was to start the semester recovered, not groggy and cranky, which might have happened had I not just sat around watching TV.
My first week back was not terribly great. Never fear, I am excited to be here and still can’t believe that I am living in a foreign country. But when I come back to the apartment wanting to see familiar faces but realizing that two of my three housemates are back home, I couldn’t help but feel a bout of loneliness. If I was back in LA and they left me, sure I would miss them, a lot, actually, but I would have my slew of other friends and normal life to keep me company. Here, they left, and I have to start from square one. Square one was much more exciting the first time around, when all of this was new. But now that my initial excitement about meeting a world full of new people has worn off, I was just plain sad that they were gone.
I met my new housemates. They are cool people. A German girl who I enjoy talking to. An Australian boy who I’ve only seen a few times (come out, come out, where ever you are!). An American girl from Connecticut or some East Coast state like that. We've all been in and out, lately, but I hope to get to know them better, soon.
I combated my initial bout of loneliness by watching illegally hosted TV shows from home. Hours, and hours of them. I also spent some time searching for a Chai concentrate and couldn’t find one anywhere. I even asked the Indian man and the coffee salesman at the Milk Market (where I bought one of the most delicious hamburgers I’ve ever had. Burger on ciabatta with brie? YES), so I made my own, having fun mixing pods and flowers and orange peels, pretending they were frogs legs and eye of newt. At last, week two rolled around and I emerged from my den, eager to put that last week behind me. I started with a couple of cool seminars, including one about Indian Classical dance and Aborigine dance with the ethnochoreology girls. I got my new syllabus. One module this semester is Anthropology of Music, where we go into more depth on ethnomusicology theory and pedagogy and such. I also get to write the concept part of my thesis in this module, leaving the fun part of the thesis for the summer. My other module is World Music Survey, where I get to learn about a few different music cultures. Because I am all by my lonesome, I got to choose my subjects, with a little nudge nudge from my adviser, of course – Arab, Indonesian, Southern Alps, some Eastern European. Sound good, yeah? I’m stoked! I also get to take an elective, which for me is more voice lessons, plus meetings with the course director of Irish Traditional Music, who happens to be a fantastic trad singer, for thesis guidance.
Which leads me to: the thesis. I have never been so excited for a research project before. Finally, I could choose something that I am very interested in, something that I am eager to learn about. I’m writing on informal social song, focusing on the social qualities of festival fringe song sessions. Remember my adventure at the Oireachtas? The after party? Basically, I’m studying that. A few excerpts from my proposal: “I propose to investigate social connections and relationships in fringe song sessions during Irish music festivals. I aim to discover whether participants find support and strengthen communities through music, and in what ways the resulting musicaly structured social life is important. I aim to analyze the links between singing and social interaction. The results of my investigation will help, I hope, to explain in what ways song is important to the singers and thus to society.” And “I would like to focus my studies on the singing that occurs outside of the festival main event in order to study how music is used as a means for people to spend time together.” See, contrary to popular belief in our western university system, ethnomusicology can be quite relevant to today’s society. Ethnomusicologists don’t necessarily study the music of some tribe in some country much different than our own. We study the people, the experiences, the relationships. Nobody ever argue with me on the relevancy of ethnomusicology again. If you do, I shall always greet you with an evil eye.
An exciting tidbit, if one ever gets excited about green things. I signed up this semester for a produce basket. A little market comes to campus every Tuesday. You all know how I love markets. The produce stall man sells a basket for €15 per week and stuffs it full of potatoes, carrots, onions, and salad crops, then throws seasonal varieties on top. Mine is a mixture of fruit and veg. He puts in my fruit staples – bananas, apples, and oranges – which I eat every day, then a few fun veggies. It gets my creative juices flowing! I’ve never eaten a rutabaga before, for instance. I actually had no idea what it was, so I used the glorious world wide web to figure it out, then used the world wide web to find recipes. And now because I have to eat up what is in my basket, I am making healthier choices rather than buying sausage rolls. It is gloriously fun!
This past weekend was an ultimate party weekend, completely pulling me out of any last bit of dumps I might have had and reminding me that I really enjoy it here. Like, a lot. My Irish housemate invited “the lads” over, which ended up being roughly the same crowd as the last extravaganza in December. It was good to see the folks again, all very nice, talkative, INCLUSIVE people who don’t care that I’m just the housemate and scoop me up as one of their own. Friday night, a few of us went to one of the on campus pubs and laughed at the stupid gimmicks the DJ was making people do. Stables bar does embarrassing “Welcome to Limerick” and “Welcome You International Students, You” type events. I hid, not wanting to be brought in the limelight as an international student. Saturday, the day started with a visit first to Dolan’s, then Clem Smith’s, to watch the Celtics game (re: football, aka soccer). We returned to the house to play football on the Play Station. I lost abysmally. First of all, I don’t know the first thing about football. Second, I don’t know the first thing about game controls. I got zero points for my team USA, and happily gave my opponents several points on accident. The kicker, the point where I just gave up completely, is when my goalie picked up the ball, turned around, and physically threw it into the net, scoring my opponent a goal. Whoopsie daisy. We went back into town for a few more pub adventures, starting at an old-style one called Fla’s and ending at Costello’s, where I’ve been before, which is kind of old style on the bottom and has a dancing floor on top. I like dancing in Ireland, because, again, people are so inclusive. Unlike dancing in other European countries or in the states where I either can’t break into a group or feel completely skeezed by some stranger, in Ireland nobody cares, every body just dances. Someone patted my head, about the extent of any oddness. Apparently they like doing that here. I have an African-American friend studying here, and he said that strangers come up to him all the time and pat his hair. After well past midnight, we took a taxi back to the place but still stayed up laughing and teasing each other until 6am. Oh, and there was a lot of man love, which is common in Ireland. I always find it quite entertaining and told them so. Me- "The evening just got a bit more gay." Them- "You're here so it cancels it out." And the man loving went on. The next day we vegged in front of the TV watching a ridiculous Irish show called “Podge and Rodge,” which is these two puppets that either sing ridiculous songs or tell ridiculous stories, Irish style, meaning, a bit on the risqué side. They were hilarious. You'd think my weekend ended there, but no. As we all know, the Superbowl was on Sunday. BBC Sport broadcasts it, in Irish time, which meant it started here at 11:30pm Sunday night. The young married couple from Arkansas invited me over, so we ate pizza and chips and watched the game. Only, BBC Sport has no commercials (as it should be normally, but not ideal when watching the Superbowl), so during the breaks, we watched a few broadcasters talk about what happened. Snooze. Yes, really. I fell asleep during Madonna’s performance and didn’t wake up until the very end of the game. The Irish are nocturnal. I seriously cannot handle late nights like them (though for the record, the Superbowl was Americans who did not stay up until 6 the night before). Even so, it may as well have been Irish who went strong the whole weekend. They do that, you know. Remember Christmas?
Which leads us to this week’s adventures. I am finally getting squared away with my job assisting a blind girl. I’ve been working for a semester and still haven’t been paid, instead running back and forth, forth and back, trying to figure out who does what when. Last semester I filled out an employment form with the university and heard nothing, so at the beginning of this semester, I called in to (visited) the disability services department. They couldn’t find my paperwork, so I filled it out again. A week later, they call me saying that I didn’t put my PPS number. My what? I had to request a letter from the International Department to say that I am legally a student here allowed to work to bring into the social welfare office in town. Of course, Disability Services calls me Friday evening, so I couldn’t get a letter until Monday evening. Tuesday morning, I set off to town with my letter, but only after a string of very unfortunate events. I was warned that the Social Welfare Office only issues new PPSN from 9:30 to 12. It takes me about 25 minutes to cycle into town, but I gave myself plenty of time in case I got lost, leaving at 11. I get to the bike shed and realize I forgot my key in my room. I ring the doorbell, nothing. Wait. Ring, nothing. Someone who was coming into the apartment let me into the stairwell, so I went up to my flat door and rang it again. I KNEW someone was in there, but nothing. Finally, after a few more rings, one of my housemates comes to the door, saying, “I thought I heard something but wasn’t sure.” Let me tell you what the door bell sounds like. My first weeks here, I thought it was an alarm. I know one girl who will try not to be holding anything hot when she knows someone will be coming to the door because once it scared her so much that she spilled boiling tea all over herself. Nine times out of ten, when I hear it, I jump clear out of my seat. So I might always wonder how my housemate couldn’t hear me ringing. But regardless. I grabbed my key, grabbed my bike, and rode into town, getting, yes, lost along the way. I spent a good five minutes at one intersection, map in hand, trying to figure out where exactly I am supposed to be going, since my map just showed streets, but in front of my were no streets and instead a little Medieval square and no street names. Hmmm. At last I found the building, and it was a confusing mess. My Irish housemate told me that the Social Welfare Office actually TOOK OUT the bathrooms and completely gutted the place for the sole purpose to make it as unwelcoming as possible. You can be waiting in line for an hour, but when the person at the window feels like leaving, he will shut the window and you will have to return another day. So pleasant. I walk around in circles for several minutes, trying to figure out what window I needed to visit. I find a window that says PPSN and a little sign that said I needed to collect a ticket and wait for my number to be called. However, I could find absolutely no ticket box. I walked outside, back inside, around in circles. I finally found one on the opposite side of the room, tucked between windows for something completely different (but of course!) and press the button. Nothing. Press again. Nothing again. I press a button that says “Information” and out pops a ticket, so I decide to sit in the information line, instead. My ticket says 12:01. I wait for 20 minutes until I am called, tell the man at the desk that I was here for the PPS but the machine wasn’t working, and he said that the machine stops producing tickets at 12:00. The absurdity of it all almost made me laugh. I should have kept that ticket, but I was too angry that I crumpled it up and threw it forcefully into the bin (“So there!”). He told me that the PPS office was now closed for 20 minutes and I had to come back tomorrow. Which of course, I couldn’t, because I had a Drs appointment (which did a whole lotta nothing. “We don’t do minor surgeries here, so you are better off waiting until you get back to California.” And “There’s nothing you can do about that, it will probably be there forever, but it is harmless. In the old days, we would say to beat it with a Bible. That reminds me of a joke.” And so my Doctor’s office visit went). I bought myself a sandwich and was talked at by another sandwich eater. I went again to the Social Welfare Office again this morning, this time leaving over two hours early so that I won’t press the button a minute late. This time, things went much more smoothly (though still long, and not without some more small talk with others in the building. Man, they love talking). They will mail my number to me next week, and I shall get paid! Celebrate! I was a little hungry, so I took myself to a place called “Chocolate Coffee.” Danger. I ate a mocha, a scone, and a little truffle that came complimentary with my drink. Big danger.
Thus has been the last three weeks, minus this coming weekend. Here’s to hoping I’m a bit faster with my blogging next time around. I know you have all been so anxious to read what has been going on in my life. And there you have it. Here's also to hoping this semester is as wonderful as last! Onward and upward!
