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.

Clearly a Sign

From the Washington Post, the horoscope for the birthday March 20, 2010:

"You'll have the means to see more of the world this year. Moves are favored, as is travel, especially long distance. A change of venue brings something fresh and fiery to your personal life. Look for love where loving people gravitate, and you'll be basking in the affection of a very attractive someone this summer."

Now, I am by nature a vaguely superstitious person. I get a weird feeling when I step on cracks in pavement. I refuse to say the actual name of the Scottish Play except under very specific circumstances. I have few rituals that must be performed, but most were related to theatrical performances, and now that I spend less time in the theatre they have become unnecessary.

However....I do like my horoscope. I don't really jive with most forms of divination, but I like having a little note in the newspaper each day to justify why I do or not do things on my to-do list. And on my birthday I like to pay special attention. I mean, it's my birthday, surely the one day when a horoscope is speaking directly to me (and everyone else sharing my birthday).

What do I take from this particular horoscope? Simple. When I turned in my application to Galway a few days later, that I would be accepted and it would be decided that I'll be spending a month in Ireland. But why stop there? I doubt I'll be moving in the next year, and Ireland certainly qualifies as long distance. I should like to do more I think.

So off I go to Milwaukee in a few days to kick off my year of travel and discovery. Then to plan in earnest for Ireland. And if I do manage to bask "in the affection of a very attractive someone this summer", well.....I'm not one to complain. But I'm much more excited about seeing more of the world.

And Away Again!

Or in theory, at least. I have managed once again to get ahead of myself in the planning stages of leaving the country. I haven't even submitted an application but I'm already functioning under the assumption that I will be frolicking with leprechauns for half the summer.

Indeed, it is true. Safely settled in graduate school (George Mason, pursuing MAIS-Folklore) I have been lured again by the siren song of study abroad, this time to Ireland. Or at least that's the general idea. I still need to finish and submit my application.

And that's where the first problem lies. 500 word essay? An evening. Letter of Recommendation? Only needs the asking. Insurance policy, number, and primary physician? We'll pause here.

You see, Spring Break is a magical time for the full-time student. A week off to catch up on research, visit the dentist, throw open the windows and breathe in the sweet smell of freedom before returning the darkness that encourages aforementioned research. Spring Break, and the application deadline of March 25 also falls just before one of the more terrifying rites of passage in my life: individual health insurance.

I will be turning 23 soon, and on that day my health coverage under my parents plan will expire totally and completely. Last week I submitted an application to some charming insurance company, but I haven't heard anything yet. Thus, part of my application remains blank, taunting me with a thousand worries. Should Galway happen, this will not be my first time abroad. This will be the first time under new health insurance, in a system I don't quite understand, and don't even know how a medical crisis abroad would work. I've been safely covered by military health care my entire life. In Switzerland I knew I could go to any hospital, and be just fine, but more than that I knew if my wanderings took me near Heidelberg or Naples there was a base I could walk onto and request preventive care at, my right as a military dependent.

And now I'm an independent. Hoping I receive coverage soon, for my own sake, more than this trip's. In the meantime, I still have half a semester's worth of work to manage, and the rest of this application. Priorities must be negotiated, and right now the sun is shining, it's 60 degrees, and I will be attending a talk on Jane Austen adaptations involving zombies, vampires, and sea monsters this evening. Friends are in town to fill my evenings with stories of campuses and future plans, and Randolph needs a new scarf. So away I go to work on enjoying the here and now, with visions of a summer away dancing through my head.

Domestic Affairs

Today is the campus Study Abroad fair, a time I used to greet with the delighted anticipation of what I could do, and where I could go. However, I’m graduating in May, and there are no more semesters for me to go away. Facing the prospect of graduation, with no real plans for grad school as of yet, nor of a job, I’d love to get away again.

As I left the fair, with one brochure for a possible graduate school, I realized I still want to go to Newfoundland with a good friend, and that dream may have to be put on hold with new developments in her life. The list of countries I still want to visit grows daily, and I’m planning on visiting Boston for conference in December.

It’s Boston that’s troubling me most of all. I realized, as I walked home that I know very little about my own country, much less continent. I’ve spent so much of my life looking for ways to use my passport that I have barely looked within our borders. I suppose that I shouldn’t so much look at this time in my life to get out and see the world, as a time to look at home. I’d like to move abroad for a few years, maybe find a grad school or a job overseas, and with all that focus, it’s turning the U.S. into the exotic.

So I’ll go to Boston in December for a few days, and then I’ll come home to manage the problems I’ll inevitably be handling then. And I’ll be spending the remainder of that break probably at home researching and planning for the next step. With any luck I’ll be in Greece for Spring Break. And throughout all of this, I begin to look for the places I don’t know. I always prided myself on my knowledge of different areas and cities in the States, but then are the moments where I realize I know entirely too little about some places. I think I shall have to remedy this.

The Tribes of England

Some weeks late…

I think that we Anglophiles come in two distinct tribes: tea and pints. Those followers of tea and crumpets seem to be eternally enchanted with the Royal Family, consider Shakespeare the paragon of playwriting, and believe wholeheartedly in having a hat to match every sundress for Ascot. The pints care more about catching the Euro Cup finals, keep track of Gordon Brown, and look more at the reality of what England is and was.

I have, and always will, proudly describe myself as an Anglophile. My Facebook list of “Favorite TV” is basically a program listing for BBC America, and I can find my way on the Underground better than I will ever manage DC’s Metro; it’s general knowledge in my dorm that any question about the English can usually be answered by me with a fairly high degree of accuracy. Not that I’m bragging, or encouraging the image of my pomposity.

The difficulty I am having is figuring out where I fit; I keep one eye on the royals, and another on Gordon Brown. Most of my Anglo-centric time is spent on film and television; I read a lot, I watch a lot of movies, and then I read some history. Having spent an equal amount of time in pubs and teahouses, I find myself equally comfortable in both.

So maybe the answer to my dilemma is not nearly as complicated as I think. Maybe the only way to find out how I fit is simply to move to the UK. After all, I like it there. The food is pretty good. I don’t mind the rain.

Although, Wales is pretty cool too.