"Traveling- it leaves you speechless then turns you into a storyteller."

Once again, I've fallen behind, but we'll get there.  The end is so close, I can practically feel it breathing down my neck.  This is so unreal.

The weekend after Fall Break, I had planned a trip to Morocco for the long weekend.  In Italy, All Saint's Day is an observed holiday and all classes were cancelled to celebrate/ observe it.  My roommate Anne and I took advantage of the opportunity to head to Morocco.  We had planned our trip with a well-established tour group, so for those of you worried about my entering into an Islam nation, fear not.  All that I had to take care of was the flight and upon finding the perfect one quite smoothly, I was ready to go.  Only to have the flight cancelled and get stuck with a not-so-great one, but it's not traveling without something going wrong.  Details..

I arrived in Morocco with no issues and one of the tour guides was there waiting for me, just as promised, so off we went.  I had arrived pretty late, the last one of the group, and Anne had filled Marcie, the guide, in on all things 'Sam.'  Apparently, when dealing with me, all you need to know is that I'm a psychology major and that I really like bread because that is what Anne passed along to Marcie and that is the first impression I made in Morocco.

As cheesy as this sounds, Aladdin really is an accurate picture of Morocco- it's a whole new world.  Just everything is so radically different.  I got there around 10 at night, and even in the dark, this was like nowhere I had ever been before.  The people, the architecture, the language, just everything.  I can't even begin to explain.  Another major difference was the water.  It is unsafe to drink in Morocco, fun fact.  So after a stop for water, we made our way to the hostel.

The group was incredibly small compared to other groups that I had traveled with.  After my experience in Granada, I was extremely relieved to have Anne there with me.  But as it turns out, everyone in the group was friendly, and more importantly, sane.  After meeting the group, I crashed.  Even successful traveling is exhausting.

The following morning we all gathered at breakfast to gear up for our day in the Ourika Valley.  We were going to have tea in the home of a berber family, then have a camel ride and finish off the afternoon with a hike to see some waterfalls in the valley.  After piling into the van, the driver informed Andy, our other guide, that there was a market going on if we wanted to see it.  We did, of course, and we got to experience market life first-hand.

Each town is named for the day it has it's weekly market, so the name of this town was Friday, but only in Arabic.  It is the custom that only the men go to market to collect whatever is needed for the week.  The philosophy is that is they make the money and they should spend the money.  It was also quickly brought to our attention that street peddlers in Morocco are much more persistent than anywhere in Europe.  They swarmed the van before it had even come to a complete stop.  They also bothered the females much more than the one guy in the group because it's so obvious that the girls are going to be completely into the necklaces you're shoving in our faces.  I did find it a little funny when one of the vendors randomly came up some knives to tempt J.C.

However, we finally made it to the berber house and were given a quick tour.  They had the most beautiful view of valley.  The complex is for the all the extended members of the family, so there could be a many as 30 members living in the house.  We then to went to have tea.  I was a little nervous about this.  I don't like tea and it's rude to not accept food in someone's house.  Also, caffeine and I don't get along, as a general rule.  The last thing I needed was to go ballistic and for no one to know what was actually going on.  Enter miraculous Moroccan mint tea.  It's delicious.  It's custom that you have mint tea with everything, and I mean everything, so we got to have lots of it during our time there and that was fine by me.  And I didn't freak out. So, add henna, bread, olive oil, honey and butter, all fresh and homemade, to the mix and my time in Morocco was off to a good start.

From there we headed to our camel ride!  It should be noted that I adore camels.  I used to find camels rather ugly and they spit.  When I was younger, my Mom took my siblings, some friends and I to a petting zoo that had come to our mall.  I begrudgingly fed the camel there since everyone else was ignoring it and the rest is history.  We became best friends and I have loved all of his kin since.  So even without the camel ride, I was ecstatic to be there.  When you are riding a camel, you can't help but feel that you're going to fall off any minute.  The saddle isn't the most secure considering that you have a hump to contend with and camels are A LOT taller than most animals you are capable of riding.  However, the country is beautiful and you're hanging out with a camel.  Am I complaining?  NOPE.

Life made.

From there we went to start our hike.  This was trickier than it sounds.  There had been recent flooding in the valley and many of the foot bridges had been washed away.  We were also stopped by a group of kids pretending to be Jews for a local festival that was going on.  We did make it to the starting point and began the ascent.  The views were absolutely marvelous, even if the trek to the top had us all gasping for air.  What I found amazing was that halfway up the trail, there was a restaurant.  There are no roads and the trail is ridiculously steep, so this means that the poor smucks that work there have to haul up everything they need.  This hike is enough with just yourself.  I cannot imagine trying to drag a box of fruit or chairs or whatever up with me.  Despite the moment of perspective puniness, the hike was great.  I will always remember the beauty of that valley.  

We were treated to a traditional Moroccan meal after our hike and enjoyed some delicious couscous and tajine.  Tajine is basically the Moroccan equivalent of our crock pot, but much tastier.  I would gladly eat tajine over a crock pot meal any day.  We were given time to rest and wash up after dinner for a Halloween party that some of the American teachers were having that evening.  We got to meet many interesting people and hear their stories of how they came to be in Morocco and what their time there had held for them.  Very interesting people with many interesting stories.  Maybe teach abroad is something I should look into..

The following day we were given a tour of the center, or the Medina.  We went to one of the first museums and to an old university and given a little insight to the life of a student before the school became a museum.  As I said before, everything in Morocco is so different.  From weapons to education to art, everything is so unique and new in my eyes.  It's truly fascinating and bewildering.  

Part of the tour included a tour of a pharmacy which was probably one of the most exciting parts of the trip.  We loved everything about the pharmacy and everyone went a little hog wild went we were given the opportunity to purchase some of what we had been shown.  Everything was natural, organic and herbal.  It was perfect.  If only we had a place like that in the United States then I would be living the dream.  They showed us oils for migraines, powders for sinuses, lotions, tea, body oils, hair products, anything you could have possibly wanted.  It didn't hurt that there was a lady going around giving everyone massages while we listened to them talk.  Again, no complaints.

After the tour we went out for a nice ride through the desert on 4-wheelers.  I had not been 4-wheeling in years and it felt so great.  And it was a great way to see the surrounding area and some of the smaller villages.  And it was beautiful in a way that only the desert can be.  

After 4-wheeling, Anne and I had signed up for a Hammam bath.  I'm going to spare you the details of this little misadventure.  If you really want to know, I'll give you a personal rendition, but long story short, Anne and I got know each other VERY well.  They said we should pack swimsuits and despite their presence, they went completely ignored.  

After the very refreshing and somewhat awkward bath and massage (even with the awkwardness, it was worth it.  It felt so wonderful and it was good practice for embracing your personal beauty.), we went out for a final dinner.  The food was great and they had live music (American, of course, you can't avoid it, but it's actually kinda nice) and belly dancers.  It was a great way to wrap up the trip.

The following day, I wandered around and got way too many souvenirs until it was time to head to the airport, and of course, my bad luck streak had to catch up with me.  When I got through security, my flight was not listed.  I waited for a couple of hours and finally it showed up, but it didn't say what gate.  Considering all the others were full, I waited at the remaining one, but they never called for boarding.  I thought I heard someone say my name and I decided to double check, just in case.  Not only had they boarded, but the plane was waiting on me.  All seven other passengers.  I arrived in Casablanca and another night in the airport.  This time, I perfected the homeless routine.  I found some cardboard boxes in a secluded area of the airport and used that as a mattress, which really does make a difference.  I had a scarf I had bought that I used as a blanket and my backpack worked great as a pillow.  I actually got some decent sleep, at least in comparison to my other nights in airports.  And for some strange reason, when I tell this story or mention it, my roommate Anne about wets herself every time.  She should be proud.  I'm a champ at this by now.  Who knew being homeless was so funny?

The following morning I was at my gate the second it was announced to avoid what had happened in the Marrakech airport.  And, of course, it was delayed.  We were finally were allowed to board, but we had to be shuttled.  After cramming everyone on like a can of sardines, we finally left.  When we got to the plane, they still weren't ready for us.  And the brilliant driver, instead of at least opening the doors to give us some air, let us sit in the extremely crowded shuttle with the doors closed at noon under a lovely desert sun.  I was about to fake an epileptic fit just for an excuse to get some fresh air.  I was really over the face-to-face time I was getting with my neighbors.  I'm pretty sure I could make fairly accurate guesses as to what each of them had had for lunch.  The driver finally grew some brains and at least let us off the shuttle and and then finally we were allowed on the plane.  I had never been so happy to be crammed onto a freezing plane in all my life.  

I loved Morocco.  It was such a diverse trip and I'm so grateful to have been able to go there.  Morocco was wonderful in the sense that it reminded that there is so much to our world that I am so unfamiliar with.  While I was shopping, I talked with a shop keeper about Islam for a little while and though Morocco is so unfamiliar to me, the human spirit isn't.  What this man had to say about his religion was beautiful and meeting this brother in humanity was such a blessing.  I'm pretty sure I would struggle in making Morocco a permanent home, but it was so awesome to see and feel and experience the home of a really phenomenal people, to have their home so joyously opened up to me.  We're different, but they make my story and experience all the more treasured and colorful.  

Your Devoted and Loving Storyteller,

Samantha

Behind Every Good Story Is: A Lunatic

I've noticed a strange pattern when I come back from a trip.  I often walk through the door and say something along the lines of, "You will never believe what happened.." or "Listen to this!" or "So, I'm dysfunctional."  Whatever follows those opening lines is usually met with hysterical laughter, lots of quizzical looks, or sheer disbelief.  More often than not, it's a combination of emotions from my audience because some of the things I find myself experiencing are classic sitcom material.  I don't know how this happens, but it does- ALWAYS.  I've begun to form a theory that I, and by extension my family and some of my friends, am God's personal comic strip.  I know my theory has validity when friends start saying that their days full of mishaps or awkward moments are called "Sam days," and people look forward to the day that I don't have a story to tell.

I think Granada has to be my greatest story to date, and for once, all the madness had nothing to do with me.  Well, at least not caused by me.  Granada was where I chose to spend the second half of my Fall Break.  It had been recommended to me by a friend who had studied in Spain.  She claimed that Granada made her think of me while she was visiting there, and after my experience and my track record, I might be able to see why.

When I arrived in Granada, I had spent another night in an airport and had just left Dublin, my current favorite city in the whole wide world.  What I find amusing is that I had expected rain while I was in Ireland.  I didn't experience a single drop.  However, the rain I had managed to avoid in Ireland was waiting for me in full force in Granada.  I had just stepped off the plane and I was already wet, and I would remain wet for the next two days.  The bus I had taken from the airport in Dublin had made sense and had clearly marked stops.  When I told the bus driver in my broken Spanish the stop I wanted in Granada, he looked at me like I was crazy.  So much for the directions the hostel had provided.

Once we came to a decision of what my stop might be, I got off and could not find street signs anywhere.  No one I asked seemed to know where I was or where I needed to go.  Getting a little fed up with the fact that I had to buy an umbrella to keep from getting soaked and I was still getting ridiculously wet, I caved and went to a cab stand.  While waiting to cross the street, I got to experience the classic movie moment where the witty and charming heroine gets splashed with a giant puddle by a passing car.  I was given a chance to perfect my witty and charming heroine frozen look of disbelief and shock as I stood soaked from the knees down on the street corner.

Once I successfully made it into the cab, the cab driver had no idea where the street I needed was.  Well, isn't that just dandy?!  Between my directions and his ingenuity, we made it to the correct street.  However, once on the right street, he didn't know where the hostel was.  Several laps back and forth and we found it.

Once in the hostel, I was given a tour.  This hostel was incredibly small which has both it's pros and cons.  Pros: you get to know the other guests.  Cons: you get to know the other guests.  The solitude and autonomy  I had enjoyed in Dublin was gone.  When I realized that my computer did not register their Wifi, I went to the hostel computers.  Enter Crazy Russian Girl.  Her name was Julianna and she sat down at a computer next to me and proceeded to relate to me every thought that passed through her head.  I'm normally not one to talk to random people, especially when I'm tired, cold, and wet, and I excused myself from the conversation as soon as was polite.  Being away from my new friend, though I didn't know that little fun fact at the time, I was considering a nap to beat the rain when who should walk in, still talking.  As it turns out, Crazy Russian Girl was one of my roommates.  Instead of napping, I got to listen to her complain about the rain.  She also told me how she had come to be in Granada.  She had been working as an aupair in Madrid and once her time was up, she planned to travel for a few weeks then return to Canada where she had immigrated when she was 17.  To listen to Julianna tell the story of her resignation, she is the poor victim who was verbally abused by the wife.  She'll tell you she was abused, just ask her.  She would be more than happy, as she exhibited many times during our time together.  To listen to her story and use the sense God gave made most of us, she flirted with the husband, he flirted back from the sound of it, and yeah, the wife got jealous.  The wife yelled and Julianna felt under appreciated and left the family.  Funny how consequences work..

The rain finally cleared for a short while and Crazy Russian Girl dragged myself and another roommate out to the market with her.  While wandering around the different vendors, she told me about the flamenco show the hostel was going to take people to that night.  She convinced me into going, so that night I met Marc, the travel writer, and Sasha and Sierra, two volunteers at the hostel that had decided that they wanted to travel for eleven months right after high school.  Along with Julianna (Crazy Russian Girl), we all headed to the flamenco show.  About a third of the way there it started to rain again.  While this is no interesting phenomenon, the group reaction was.  They kept at their same pace and acted like nothing was happening.  I don't know about them, but I was getting wet.  Really wet.  We were at about our half point when the rain really started to pick up and it occurred to the group that, oh, that water falling from the sky isn't so great after all.  We didn't realize how far we still had to go and kept on walking, then running.  At this point, I'm Gene Kelly, singing in the rain because I'm so wet it doesn't matter what I do.  After battling a small flood, we make it to the restaurant where the flamenco was held.  I got to know the people I was with and we enjoyed the show.

Flamenco is a very interesting form of dance but it's quite fun.  The audience gets really into it and you just want to start shouting OLE!  I don't, however, recommend this while you're soaking wet.  Flamenco is all about the footwork and is very impressive.  It also comes with it's own sort of music.  The singing is very throaty and most of the instrument part of the music is clapping.  The clapping is very interesting.  It changes tempo and beats according to the movement of the dancer.  It's actually really intricate, for clapping.

The following morning, Crazy Russian Girl talked me into trying to find the Gypsy barrio (neighborhood) with her after an early wake-up call that I had not requested.  Before we set out, I needed new shoes.  I had only allowed myself one pair of shoes in my backpack for the break and with the flood waters they had lately encountered, they were forgetting how to be proper shoes, not to mention they stunk to high heaven, as Crazy Russian Girl took every opportunity to point out, along with my snoring and many of my other flaws.  There are many to pick from I discovered.  Personally, I felt my largest flaw was thinking that I could break in new shoes (boots, of course, to combat the rain) on cobble stones that were more like mini spikes and walking up and down the hills of Granada.  Terrible idea.  Absolutely terrible.  I have never seen such large blisters nor have I ever seen them turn that color.  Purple, if you were wondering, is what color blisters filled with blood are.  In addition to this painful wandering, we managed to add a member to our party when we asked a passerby for directions and he decided he would personally take us there then show us all his favorites spots along the way.  We were getting a little creeped out, but it was when he picked up the used cigarette on the ground AND USED IT that the red flag officially started flying.  We found the nearest group of people and stuck with them and had them scare him off.  We finally found the barrio, only to discover that it was closed.  At that point, I would much rather have had my new boots shoved up my butt than make that little discovery with them on my feet.  I seriously could have cried.  The views were beautiful, but between stalkers, and no breakfast, and hurting feet, and relying on a crazy Russian to guide you will taint the experience just a bit.

We stopped for lunch after, which I thought I had greatly deserved and had the best burger since coming to Europe.  I could not have been happier.  The restaurant we had stopped at had hookah and it was free if you spent so much on your meal.  We met the minimum and decided to do hookah.  We had a nice discussion about books and school and learning about our respective countries, but when she said that everyone was wrong when they said that the U.S. won WWII and really Russia won, I began to clue into the real madness behind the otherwise normal exterior.  I attempted to explain to her that in non-Soviet countries, we are taught that the Allies won WWII.  She wouldn't accept this as an answer.  Apparently Russia just has something that the rest of us are missing.  I became seriously alarmed when she said that Russia needed another strong leader like Stalin.  Now I was panicking.  Just to make sure I hadn't gotten my world leaders crossed, I asked wasn't this the same guy who was responsible for the death of ten million of his own people?  Yes, she conceded, but they were all political enemies and that was ok.  He was a strong leader.  I made a mental note that I was going to try to avoid her for the rest of my time in Granada.  (See why she is called Crazy Russian Girl?)

Crazy Russian Girl had mentioned that she wanted to go to a salsa club and before I realized that she was freaking psychotic, this had sounded appealing.  Marc, Sasha, and Sierra had invited me to go dancing, but given that Crazy Russian Girl didn't like anyone, she didn't want to do anything involving them.  I had said ok to Crazy Russian Girl, but somehow weaseled my way out of it and went dancing with the others.  While we had a great time and I was exuberant in my happiness to be away from Crazy Russian Girl, this was not my best life choice in terms of my feet.  I made it through the night, but just barely.

The following morning I had every intention of sleeping in and going to Alhambra, the Arab Palace.  This, however, was adjusted by my dear Crazy Russian and I was rudely poked in the butt for my wake-up call that morning.  I had hoped with her mini panic attack over the bed bugs she believed to be in her bed (it was allergies) that had moved her into a different room would keep her from waltzing into mine like she owned the place.  False.  I found myself dragged out of the hostel a short while later.

While I'm not going to hide that I'm the biggest wimp in the universe, I'm pretty sure it can't be argued that blisters up and down hills in new shoes is not a fun experience.  I begged for band-aids and a taxi.  Luckily my neurotic Russian allowed such mercies.

Once we got there, Crazy Russian Girl had to return her ticket she had purchased for another day and in the process found a shorter line for bank cards than the one I was currently standing in.  She, of course, did not have her card, so I paid for both tickets with a promise to pay me back.  I kissed that money good-bye.  After finding this short line, she began to gloat about how stupid everyone else was for waiting in the long line.  By this point, I'm reaching the end of my rope.  First, she only found it because she was running around trying to return the original, so we avoided the long line by sheer luck.  Second, why is this necessary?!  Not knowing doesn't make you stupid.  I was getting so fed up by this point.  We were finally allowed in and she continued her random attacks on passer-bys.  She also could not find anything worth seeing on the grounds.  She is quoted to have saying that the gardens were nothing to look at and that the look-out of the city was boring.  She even told other tourists it wasn't worth seeing.  I'm cursing under my breath at this point.  She became a bigger pest (didn't know that was possible..) when she realized that she didn't have a ticket for all the palaces on the grounds.  We had to stop at one point so I could get my band-aids on and she couldn't resist telling me that me feet were gross (I'm telling you, my feet weren't hurting for nothing.).  We'll just add to it to her insults about my messy hair (sorry if I've been traveling for a week and didn't pack my beauty kit..) and skin rash (that she knew she could fix with the right moisturizer) from the day before.  She then had the audacity to complain about how much pain her feet were in.  I was going to throw her over the freaking parapet or start looking for ways to start a new Cold War if she didn't cut it out.  Crazy Russian Girl was suddenly satisfied when she found some of the classic Arab arches that the palace is known for.  Despite my bi-polar companion, I thought it was absolutely wonderful and gorgeous.  I would have gladly spent more time there and I did try to suggest that we split up so I could stay and she just didn't get the hint.  I would rather leave prematurely than listen to her complain a moment more.

On the way back to the hostel, she resumed her most constant complaint that there was nothing to see or do in Granada.  I fought her on this one.  The rain had really not been kind to us in this regard and it was simply a matter of looking.  Our bus stopped at the cathedral and I said that I was going to go see it.  By some wonderful miracle of the merciful Lord above, there was an entrance fee to the cathedral and being the cheap -skate that she was, she didn't want to pay it.  Sorry about ya!  But actually, I'm not really sorry at all.  I had a few glorious hours to myself in a beautiful church and chapel and I went back to the market to look for souvenirs without being judged or pestered.

When I returned, I decided that I was going to refuse to leave my room.  I really was exhausted and I wanted nothing more to do with Crazy Russian Girl.  She did find me and try to tempt me to go to a party with her that was being hosted by some boy she had happened to meet.  Nope, sorry, but no.  After realizing I wasn't budging, she climbed into my bed.  It's like she could sense my every weakness.  She finally compromised to just going to dinner and I relented, mainly to get her out of my bed.

At dinner, she offered to pay for my glass of wine to make up for the ticket I bought for Alhambra.  Let me just make it clear that the glass of wine was 2,50 euro and the ticket was 7,50 euro.  Mmm, good effort, but not quite.  She then proceeded to suggest a really gross dish to me and bash on the waitress the entire time we were in the restaurant.  I could not get this meal over fast enough.  When we paid, our money situation panned that she would pay for part of dinner and my wine, perfectly equaling 7,50 euro.  I was content that we had settled the score, but when she wanted dessert, she insisted that I pay for her chocolate bar because she had paid for more than my wine.  I wasn't even going to go there with the delusional monster, so I went with it.  Karma was on my side when the chocolate bar turned out to be white chocolate and she hates white chocolate.

She spent the rest of the evening trying to get me to hang out with her, which I did for a few minutes, but then  I decided to channel my Crazy Russian and sneaked away to go hang out with the group that was going bar hopping.  I spent the evening just chatting with everyone and taking in Granada night life, which is a little nuts.  They go out really late and stay until the early hours of the morning.  I gave up early when Crazy Russian Girl was at one of the bars we went to.  I didn't even announce my departure.  I just left.

The following morning, it was finally time to leave.  I did friend Crazy Russian Girl on Facebook, but only to get pictures from her because my camera broke in Dublin.  Turns out she's still crazy and she de-friended me a couple weeks later and before I could get the pictures from her.  Thanks. For. Nothing.  I said good-bye to the civil people I had met and liked and made the earliest excuse I could to get to the airport.  I got to the little, one terminal, municipal airport three and a half hours early.

While my experience and opinion of Granada are colorful, to say the least, I enjoyed the wake up call.  People are really so vital to how we relate to everything.  This is a curse and a blessing.  No matter how crazy the crazy ones are, there are good people to balance it out.  Like Marc, making jokes about our stupidity because we both decided this was an opportune time to break in new shoes.  Like Sierra, running up to give me huge tackle bear hugs whenever she saw me, especially when Crazy Russian Girl was around to annoy her.  Like Sasha, for just being the chill person I could sit and observe the world with and for letting me sleep past check-out with no repercussions.  I love that I met these people.  I'm sure there will be one day I love that I met Crazy Russian Girl, aka Julianna, but for now, I haven't figured out the punchline for this episode of God's personal comic strip and I've just got to wait for it to come.  It always does.

I've come to realize that for a good story you need a lunatic.  It's just dawning on me that the reason I have so many humorous and outrageous stories and experiences is probably because I'M the lunatic.  So long as I don't drive everyone around me too crazy, I'm OK with that.  I'm just going to be thankful that I wasn't the lunatic this time.

Hoping that you find my stories and your own stories worth reading!
Sam

Fall Break- Finally!

There's a phrase that I'm very fond of when it comes to describing my life, primarily for it's accuracy in communicating how my life unfolds, and it is flying by the seat of my pants.  There is very rarely any moment in my life when I am not "flying by the seat of my pants," and sometimes quite literally.  This has especially been true for my time abroad.

When Fall Break finally came around, I was so ready to get out and do some slower paced traveling in which every moment did not have some scheduled activity, get away from school, and eat something other than pasta for a little while.  Mid Terms are never what can be called fun and with Kara's visit and my traveling the two previous weekends, most of my studying had been done, yep, you guessed it, by the seat of my pants.  On top of studying, I had yet to book anything for Fall Break.  Sure, I said I was going to Dublin and Granada, but had I bought the tickets or booked hostels?  Nope.  So that had to be done too, and while my apartmentmates thought I was nuts putting it off and had had their breaks booked for weeks, this actually worked to my advantage.  Flights really are cheaper if you wait until a much closer date to departure to buy them.  Mid Terms all went smoothly and successfully, even Italian where our teacher has taught us roughly nothing.  With that, I was more than ready to begin break.

My break started Saturday morning with a day trip to Perugia for a chocolate festival that is held annually and is one of the largest chocolate festivals in the world.  Perugia is also home to the university that Amanda Knox attended, for those of you familiar with her case here in Italy.  I found it rather amusing that the tour guides found it fitting to point that out to us.  Despite that little glitch, Perugia is a beautiful city.  The valley that it is in is so wonderful and it was the perfect day.  Our only task was to wander around and find all the booths with free samples.  One of the booths was located in the old fort and in addition to the chocolate booths, there were meat, cheese and wine vendors.  Guess what I came home with?  I'll give you a hint- it wasn't chocolate.  That night, Anne and I treated ourselves to a dinner of sausage, cheese and wine.  I'm easily satisfied, what can I say?

The next morning I was up at an hour that should be illegal to be out of bed and at the train station to catch the very first train of the day, just to make sure I didn't repeat the Prague mess.  I was at the airport an hour early and no matter who I asked or where I looked, no one could tell me where my flight was.  I finally found an information desk and asked if he knew.  He proceeded to tell me that I was at the WRONG AIRPORT. And sure enough, there it was, printed right on my ticket.  He said my only chance of getting there in time, which was slim, was a taxi and a lot of euros.  So, 100 euros later, I found myself in a taxi praying to St. Christopher with all of my might that I will make this stupid plane.  St. Chris was on my side that day and I made the flight.

Ireland.  Of all the places I have ever wanted to visit, Ireland is easily in the top five.  Part of my family is Irish (my brothers have the give-away red hair and I hate them for it), Irish accents are possibility one of God's personal gifts to me, and something about those green hills just fascinates me.  The longer I was there, the more I realized that I needed to come back someday for a more extended period.  While I love Florence dearly, there was a small part of me that was wishing that I had picked Dublin as a study abroad destination. No regrets, but this was a great indicator of just how much I loved Dublin.

I spent the first two days of my time there just wandering around taking in what Dublin had to offer, and there's quite a bit.  I visited the castle several times, once on my own, once for a tour, and once to try to see the church on the grounds.  Turns out that it isn't the chapel that's open on Wednesdays, but the tax revenue museum that's beneath the chapel.  Now that was simply fascinating.  The history of the castle is quite interesting.  It has the last Viking tower in Dublin and has been used in some fashion or another all throughout Dublin's history, the good and the bad.  On the tour, we were shown some of the state rooms for the King's regent and the rare visits the King made to Ireland.  These rooms will soon be used as the capital of the EU within the next six months.  We were also shown the excavations of the original fort which was mostly lost in a fire.  Some of the walls as you come in the entrance of the grounds have bayonet marks from the Easter Week uprising.  The castle is there in every part of Irish history.

The tower and the chapel

Another major site that I spent a significant amount of time at was St. Patrick's Cathedral.  It is built on the site that St. Patrick reputedly baptized some of the first believers.  The Cathedral is a great place to spend several hours and brush up on all things Jonathan Swift, who was a rector there for many years and did most of his famous works while serving as rector.  I saw the Cathedral my first night there and decided to return the next morning for Mass.  Despite this being the site where St. Patrick converted hundreds to Catholicism, this is not a Catholic cathedral, which I found out the hard way the next morning.  I was, however, very nicely invited to attend the service for the Church of Ireland, which I stayed for most of, then panicked when it came time for their communion and I bolted.  I went to breakfast instead and had the most delicious chicken, lettuce, corn and egg sandwich, homemade potato chips, pumpkin soup and toast EVER and made up for that little misadventure.  

Another highlight was exploring Phoenix Park.  It's a gorgeous huge park, one of the largest in Europe.  The President lives on the grounds as well as the American ambassador.  There is also a zoo which I decided to visit one afternoon.  I haven't been to a zoo in forever and it was so nice!!  It was a little chilly and I grabbed a hot chocolate and wandered around for a few hours.  I encountered a peacock in the girls bathroom which was quite interesting, but I think we got along all right.  This zoo also had the largest herd of giraffes I had ever seen and I was ecstatic.  I have a strange love for most savanna animals, but especially giraffes and elephants.  I spent longer than I should have making faces at the giraffes, mainly because they would make faces back.  Did I mention I'm easily entertained?  The elephant enclosure was my other favorite.  When I walked in, it was just me and one of the elephants was right there.   He even noticed that I was standing there, falling in love with him, and he tapped the glass where I was.  I think he just wanted me to go away while he was eating, but I was persistent.  I don't think I won him over, but at least he acknowledged me.  Hee..  : )

Of course, no visit to Ireland is complete without going to Trinity College and seeing the Book of Kells.  I want my children to go to Trinity College.  I loved it that much.  If I couldn't go there, then someone I love should.  It's a beautiful, not to mention prestigious, school and gets to brag that it's the home of the Book of Kells.  I love old books and seeing this was wonderful.  The detail is, well, detailed.  I can't imagine just how much time it took and I can't imagine doing it all by hand.  It's very impressive and the Irish are very protective of it.  Not that I can blame them.  

A large part of my time was spent simply exploring the city via a tourist bus.  It took you around to all the major sites and you could hit up everything pretty quickly and efficiently.  It also showed me a lot of interesting things in Dublin that I would not have found on my own.  

I also decided that I could not leave Dublin without going to the National Leprechaun Museum.  I mean, who gets to say they've done that?!  It was quite interesting and I found it very amusing.  I also couldn't resist getting my brothers' souvenirs there.  They will soon be walking advertisements for the Leprechaun Museum, as if their red hair and very Irish names don't do that already.  That'll teach them for calling me short all the time..  

My other "couldn't pass up" moment was going to dinner at a place called The Church.  It is exactly what it sounds like- a converted church that is associated with a lot of famous Irish men and women.  It still has the stain glass windows and the organ.  It may be blasphemy, but I had the best garlic bread of my life there (and I'm living in ITALY, for Pete's sake), so it can't possibly be all bad.  

In honor of the approach of Halloween, I decided to go on a ghost bus tour while I was there.  I normally don't do scary, but I just couldn't resist.  They're pretty into Halloween in Ireland (they are the originators of Halloween) and it's my favorite holiday.  Luckily the tour was more for entertainment than scares and told some popular ghost stories and showed us some places where hauntings known to happen in Dublin.  I even learned the tactics of a famous grave robber, in case my day job doesn't work out.  

One of the big things I did while I was in Dublin was sign up for the Celtic Tour, which took you around the Boyne Valley and showed off some of the major historic sites in the area.  We went to the Hill of Tara, which is where all the kings of Ireland used to come together to choose a high king and make decisions regarding governing.  It is also where St. Patrick was essentially allowed to start preaching.  I, however, had to start this tour off Samantha-style.  My shoes were pretty worthless in protecting me from the dew and I was soaked ten minutes into it.  Given that my shoes were completely soaked, I had no traction and found myself on my butt very quickly and my camera covered in mud.  Luckily it managed to survive the rest of the time in Ireland.  

From there we moved on to Trim Castle, which is most famously known for it's association with the movie, Braveheart.  The opening scene was filmed there, which is kinda funny because the movie takes place in Scotland.  Details..  The castle, however was very cool.  This is what I typically think of when I think castle and it was a very neat visit.  

From there we went to Loughcrew, which had a lot of interesting features.  First, it had a giant hill which from the top it was rumored that you could see a third of Ireland.  Second, it had a cool passage tomb at the top of the hill which would have held the ashes of significant Celts, until they were removed when visitors were allowed into the tomb.  You can see the original cravings and brag that you were in a structure that is over 5,000 years old and still standing.  Third, it has a permanent Mass rock.  When the Catholics were persecuted, they used Mass rocks to signal where the Mass was going to be held.  These were normally portable seeing as it wasn't safe to have Mass in the same spot for more than a couple of weeks, but because the hill is so huge, they could see any approaching attackers and get away in time.  I would just hate to have to go up that crazy hill once a week.  Fourth, Loughcrew is the home of St. Oliver's family home and home parish.  At least what's left of them.  The Catholic persecution wasn't very kind to these buildings, but they're still there to see.    Fifth, Loughcrew had lunch.  Thank goodness.  

 The big hill

 Carvings 

 Inside the Passage Tomb

 Persecution Altar

 Mass Rock/ Altar

 Entrance to the Passage Tomb

 St. Oliver's Church

After Loughcrew, we went to see the "Jumping Church."  The folklore behind it is that some monks were honored and buried in the walls of the church.  An excommunicated man was buried in the church (who knows how that happened..).  The disgruntled monks moved the wall four feet overnight, leaving the excommunicated man on the outside of the church.  While the folklore is more intriguing, the gale winds and the church sinking into itself is really to blame.  

Monasterboice was next.  This was an ancient monastery that was known as center of higher learning during the Dark Ages.  While the rest of Europe was destroying religious and education establishments, Ireland was flourishing- the land of scholars and saints it was called.  However, enter Henry VIII and this, too, was destroyed.  It's heartbreaking.  However, a huge Celtic cross still stands and is one of the largest remaining examples of Irish religious art.  What's interesting is that Pope Benedict does not recognize it as a Christian symbol because it has, God forbid, Celtic symbols on it.  The Irish like to brag that they are the only example of religious conversion without any bloodshed and much of that is due to the incorporation of Celtic art and symbols.  I hate to take a side here, but I think I'm with the Irish.  

Our final stop was St. Peter's Church to see the shrine of St. Oliver.  St. Oliver was responsible for a great deal of resistance to the Catholic persecution.  He was finally caught after starting schools and continuing to preach.  The Irish refused to convict him, even after the jury had been bribed, he was so well loved.  He was finally taken to England and convicted under trumped up charges of treason.  He was then hung, drawn, and quartered.  If you don't know what that is, don't look it up.  People scare me.  Just to ensure that he was dead and to deter others, they burned his head.  However, followers and friends of his managed to gain possession of his head and it is venerated in this church.  The church itself is very beautiful and also possesses a piece of the true cross.  While looking at a burned head isn't typically my cup of tea, it was worth the visit.  

When I returned after the tour, I went to Food, Fairies and Folktales.  It was basically a night of traditional Irish music, folk tales, food traditions and history over a three course traditional Irish meal at Dublin's oldest pub, The Brazen Head, established in 1198.  It was wonderful.  I simply adored every moment of it, except making myself drink a whole glass of Guinness, but the Gormleys would be proud.  My first full beer was an Irish one.  If that's not luck of the Irish, I don't know what is.  The evening at Food, Fairies, and Folktales was a great way to end my day.

I left the following day, but had a little time to explore before I left.  I went to see Dublina, a recreation of Viking and medieval Dublin, which honestly was a little creepy.  It had way too many wax figures making noises at random to enjoy by myself.   A good way to learn history, but a little scary.  Dublina connected to Christ Church Cathedral, so I went to visit that.  It was a pretty church, but I will never understand the Anglicans.  They had a gift store and coffee shop in the crypt.  I was a little weirded out.  Not to mention that they started a prayer service while there were tourists milling around.  Thank God I'm Catholic!

When it came time to leave, I highly considered cancelling my flight to Granada and staying the rest of the week, but I knew I wanted to see Spain as well, so I followed through with the original plan.  However, you are all invited to come visit me anytime in Ireland when I move there permanently.  The first pint of Guinness is on me.  : )

Cheers to the little bit, or lot o'bit, of Irish in all of us,

Samantha