Hibernia Alone

And with a "see ya, kiddo" I am adrift. The only left to do is to pass through security, find my gate and wait. I am alone for the moment in Dulles Airport uncertain of what to expect.

I have only flown alone once before, from Lugano to Prague, the rare trip where I had to do everything totally alone, with only the promise of a friend's presence to look forward too. At the very least, I only had to fly for three hours, with a layover in Zurich. This time I can look forward to a two hour layover in New Jersey, and a six hour flight to Dublin, and then wandering through Customs and Immigration, recovering my just underweight bag, and finally into a cab and off to a hostel. Mostly by my lonesome. I had company yes, but there was no green canvas bag providing the answers should I lose my way.

Which meant that I simply could never become lost; I would always known what came next and how to function in any crisis.

Of course, this is all in the past now. The six hour flight is done, the cab was hired and paid, the hostel booked and checked in, and two full days of touring have passed since a moment of blind panic. I am in Dublin, in a hostel in the middle of Temple Bar, and I am safe. My room is secured by the knowledge of my roommates, and my own caution. My feet ache with the miles of tourist tracking, and I am back in my element. I'm still in a foreign country, and I need to eventually move my slightly underweight bag from one side of the island to the other, and try my hand at day trips, but those are minor inconveniences of the future. For now, I am fresh from an evening of "Arcadia", Guinness, Gaol and art. Tomorrow I have museums and further touring to accomplish, and the hopes of a trip to the Giant's Causeway or Newgrange.

The important thing? I'm in Ireland, and the sun has never stopped shining.

Waka Waka

Let's face it, I'm not into sports. I went to a football school for undergrad, attended my fair share of games, and was bored almost every time. I couldn't stand the assumption that group television time must be spent watching the games. I do enjoy attending major league baseball games, but only for the Chicago teams, and after one evening at U.S. Cellular Field I doubt if I can be convinced to go back without a large group to defend me. I can't get into basketball, lacrosse does nothing for me, I really only enjoy the opening ceremonies to the Olympics.

But I love football. Futbol, football, soccer, however you say it I love that game. I love it because it's fast paced, continuous play. I love that it demands skilled foot work (and I'm a dance nut), I love that it's the only sport that the whole world plays and the fans. Oh the fans! Deeply passionate, at times vicious, and filled with a love of the game. I love the chants, I love the songs. I don't know any other sport that can sustain a sub-genre of pop music on semi-annual pop songs, or at least a collection of songs that I enjoy and want to listen to more than once. I love being at games, or watching them with a group on TV; mostly because I actually know what's going on.

I mention this, because it's World Cup 2010, South Africa. The last time I was abroad it was the Euro Championships, which began mere days after I left Switzerland (a host country). This year I started my viewing with the USA-England game; a charming group of gentlemen decided to put up screens in DuPont Circle for the presentation of all the games. I arrived with my brother in time for the Argentina-Nigeria game, and it was fabulous. Huge group of people, approaching too hot, not enough space, who could ask for more? As it turns out, I could ask for an air-conditioned bar, with seating and rowdy fans for the actual US-England game, complete with chants disparaging the Queen and BP. Nothing like disaster based national hate.

I had a great day, to say the least. The Cup is up and running, and I'll be leaving the country in two days. Luckily I'm headed to Ireland, so I'm sure to still have an opportunity to see as many games as I want, provided I don't cheer for France, ever. It's a good thing I was reminded that Ireland was ousted by France before I commit any fan faux pas.

Land that Time Forgot

I have this issue with summer, and really any period of my life that lacks a regular schedule, with solid deadlines or regular meetings. I lose all sense of time; I roughly keep track of days because suddenly my parents are around and want to engage in "chores" or I realize a beloved television show is on. However, I lose all sense of how close certain events may be. Like now; it's June 2, I have less than two weeks before another extended jaunt abroad, and my sense of the reality of the situation? Not happening. I've been cleaning the rooms I inhabit for days, adding new organizational structures, and vaguely remember to put items in a box for "Ireland", knowing they may become useful. I get periodic e-mails reminding me of my classes, or the need to register, and I know I need to act on them, but I have books to put on shelves and those floors won't clear themselves.

And so my giddy sense of anticipation has been completely subverted by the lazy days of summer that grip me. The sun shines, summer storms flare up, and the tadpoles threaten the lives of the goldfish. Friends reappear from colleges, and I somehow manage to ignore the call of a summer job, knowing that I can't maintain employment when I'm leaving...eventually.

I recall two years ago, in the run up to Switzerland I spent my days thrilled, soon, soon I would be on my way, gone for a whole semester. I packed, and repacked; new luggage was purchased, textbooks sought and found, and a little bit ignored because it was winter break and even I can't sustain that level of excitement longer than a few days without regular reminders like Italian class, or a roommate going with me. This time, I have no prep classes, I have some distance from my fellow travelers and no contacts abroad to remind me of the glories of the future. So instead, I clean, I assemble, I wonder why I'm so concerned about cute summer clothes when the average temperature in Galway in July is 65 F.

And then I think, it's too hot to work, I'd rather see a movie.