The Emerald Isle.

Dia Dhuit!

Patrick and I took a cab then a train to the airport. It was very nice of him and Laura to let me stay with them the last few days, and I really enjoyed their company. It was also fun to sit in on Patrick’s criminal law class and meet some of his law school buddies.

Once we got to the airport I went through security while Patrick watched from the front of the airport to make sure I didn’t ‘get shoved in a bag and taken away or anything,’ as he put it. I waved at him probably ten times before I walked around a corner where we couldn’t see each other anymore, and I was officially traveling on my own.

I found my terminal quickly and there was a group of Smic Chicks there. For the record, a Smic Chick is what they call girls from SMC (Saint Mary’s College) because it looks like SMC would be pronounced Smic. My blog name was a nice Irish spin on the nickname that my mom cleverly came up with. As we waited in our terminal we talked about what we wanted to do when we were abroad and how we couldn’t believe that the day to leave had actually come. We got ourselves all worked up, knowing that we still had to endure a 7 and a half hour flight before we would be able to see the Emerald Isle.

As I was boarding I handed the woman my ticket and passport. “Are you an American citizen?” she asked. I guess I was kind of excited with the girls because I enthusiastically replied “born and raised!” Apparently this raised red flags with her, as it probably should have, and she gave me a speech about the flight’s alcohol policy and how I couldn’t bring any booze on the plane. Mom, I swear to God I was not acting drunk or wild enough to seem drunk in the airport. However, we all got a good laugh about it, and apparently after I went through she gave the same speech to the rest of the girls after me.

Traveling over the Atlantic was easier than I remembered, and cemented my new feeling of independence. I was seated next to an American student named Brendan and we became fast friends. He is also studying in Ireland at the University of Maynooth, and our apartments are right next door to each other. Interestingly enough he attended Notre Dame for 4 days, but is currently studying at the University of Miami. I expected to sleep most of the way, but I didn’t sleep more than a total of 30 minutes or so. Not because of excitement, but because there was really no comfortable way to do so in my seat. Other people found extra rows, which there were plenty of, and layed down the whole flight, but by the time I caught on to what was going on I’d already missed that boat.

As we walked out of the airport I was immediately overwhelmed with nostalgia. The Irish air smelled exactly how I remembered the London air smelling 4 years prior. I never expected it, and frankly, I didn't even consciously remember the London air being anything special until I was reminded, but it was incredibly comforting. The same crisp, foggy air had been waiting for me for the last 4 years, and now I smell it every day. One big difference that I’ve come to learn, and quickly appreciate, is all of the moisture in the air. I don’t mind it one bit. It makes all of our hair curl, it makes our cheeks blush, it makes my lungs feel full, and I don’t mind. The journey from Dublin to Maynooth was about 10-15 minutes long, and as soon as I upload my pictures I'll be able to show you my beautiful campus and town.

I miss you all more than I can say.

Sláinte!

First Leg.

Dia Dhuit!

I'm in the first leg of my trip, and practicing my Gaelic already. I'm here in Chicago staying with Patrick and Laura until tomorrow night when I fly out of O'Hare. My anticipation is high, my expectations are higher. This is the strangest feeling, knowing that I'm moving so far away tomorrow. I am physically unable to understand, let alone accept, that I said goodbye to my family and friends for 5 months. That I'm going to live in another country by myself for 5 months. That I've been planning and packing for so long, and now I'm thrust through a whirlwind of goodbyes that will culminate in a new, independant, adventurous life. Absolutely the biggest opportunity of my life thus far. Unreal.

For the sake of documentation, I've taken some pictures of the packing process. I have a specific technique that I like to carefully employ when I pack that my mother refuses to understand or appreciate:



She fails to see the beauty and functionality of my organized piles because they aren't "clearly separated" enough for her, apparently. After days of her complaints countered by my justifications, I threw my hands in the air in a "You think you can do better? Go for it!" manner. And this disaster was her solution:



The meticulous folding and stacking displayed both a lack of originality and practicality. Her so-called "technique" was to fit everything I needed neatly into my suitcases. "I've packed for Patrick a hundred times and he always thanked me," she says. Yeah. Sure Mom. I can see it now - Patrick forcing a smile as he thanked her politely through his teeth for how hard she worked, not wanting to hurt her feelings because she had the best of intentions. She was clearly doing the best that she could, and I too didn't have the heart to re-pack after she was so excited to show me the process and finished product. Needless to say I'll be taking care of my own packing from now on.

I'm flying out tomorrow evening. I can't stop thinking about all of the new friends I'll be making! It may take a little bit to get my internet working and a phone, but I'll do my best.

I'll miss you all more than I can say.

Sláinte!