Galway Girl

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Scoil Bhríde

Every week I tutor Irish boys and girls after school in homework club. The students at Scoil Bhríde come from a low income area of Galway called Shantalla. For some of these children, they won't graduate from secondary school and others will struggle with literacy for the rest of their lives. 

Homework club takes place for an hour after school and is supervised by teachers from the school day. It's required by the Irish government that school teachers stay one extra hour to work, unpaid. With the help of Sister Margaret, a Presentation sister, homework club gives these children a place to work on their homework, something that they may not have at home. 

There are three rooms for homework club with about 14 primary school children in each one. The first day I volunteered I worked with two girls in the back of the room. When I sat down the girls were very excited to have me help, but in all honesty could have gotten on well without me. Other students in the room struggled to focus and work on their assignments. To be in homework club, students have to have repeatedly failed to complete or hand in their assignments. It was hard to understand how some of these students had failed to complete their work, but some may not have an environment suitable at home to do homework or a person able to help them.

As the weeks went on I sat with the same girls but the students increased and I began regularly working with two girls and two boys. The youngest boy, Laurence had the most trouble, mostly stemming from his attitude. He'd constantly call to me "You, come here" or order me to put his eraser, homework, etc., etc. into his bag. It wasn't until the last session that he began using my name and saying please regularly. His older brother sat next to him, and worked furiously to finish before his girl cousin who sat across from him. Many students saw homework as a competition and lost confidence when they fell behind.

My main concentration at homework club was to help focus the students on their homework and help them gain excitement about learning and school. I made a small achievement one day when Laurence refused to study his time tables for an exam the next day. As he was packing up for the day I said to him, "Let me know how your test goes." He looked at me in shock, as though I was the first person whoever showed interest or support. He said he would and that he might look over his time tables when he got home.

My professor for the service learning class asked us, how can we measure our progress at homework club? In some instances, like this, I don't think you can. I may not be able to measure the statistics of Laurence's homework completion or the accuracy of his assignments, but I know in my heart I made a difference that day.

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Things that don't exist* in Ireland:

Dogs on leashes

Peanut butter

Q-tips

Refrigerated eggs

Alfredo sauce

Travel size anything

Mexican food

*Or are extremely hard to find.

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The London Eye

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TradSoc

I've joined a few societies since school started, my favorite being TradSoc. Also known as Trad Society, TradSoc is school club devoted to playing (and listening to) traditional Irish music. The society meets every Tuesday at 10 PM at the Crane Bar and plays a session. All are welcome to play and listen. The last two weeks I've gone it's been packed. Wall-to-wall are people (both young and old, student and non-students) who have been to every session and others who just stumbled upon the bar while backpacking through Galway. Although the bartender calls for a last drink at midnight by turning on the lights, I have a feeling as the listeners shuffle out the band keeps playing till late into the night.

I've been wanting to sing with the TradSoc since I first heard about them. But, in doing some research I've come to realize that much of the traditional Irish music is mostly, if not entirely, instrumental. The instruments that create a trad session are those I'd likely put in the "odds and ends" category had a music shop of my own. These instruments are all unique in their shape and sound, yet somehow sound beautiful together. At a trad session, or on a weeknight at a pub you're likely to find any of the following: an accordion, a tin whistle, a fiddle, a concertina, a guitar, an Irish flute, a banjo, a mandalin, a bodhran (drum), and a uillean pipe.

Traditional Irish music has been described to me in a few ways. First, my director explained that for the instruments, traditional irish music is similar to American jazz music in that it's all improvised. Some of the tunes have been around since the beginning and known amongst all musicians, but it's just the chorus and then everyone continues to play in the same key and beat but in whatever way they fancy. I was somewhat disappointed and confused when I learned that traditional irish music was mostly instrumental.

At my first trad session a few brave young lads stood up and sang traditional irish songs, which aren't the songs you hear at the end of the night at a pub. These songs are in Irish. The songs are usually long ballads that in all honesty, don't sound very pretty. As an older woman described, "It's not meant to be pretty." She compared it to the songs of African Americans during the slave era. "Their songs weren't meant to be heard and neither are these. Their purpose is to release the torment from inside." The songs are often out of tune, on purpose, which the woman explained was because the song supposed to depict a sound of wailing.

So, I'm slowly learning what is actually categorized as "traditional irish music," both vocal and instrumental. At the moment, I want to do right by the Irish. I don't want to go in singing what I might label as traditional, but is actually just two decades old or a pub song. Either way, when I open my mouth to sing (or speak) there's no Irish inflection and that's a give away too. I didn't sing this week, and I walked home head in my hands wishing I would have. I've heard nothing but good things about the Irish people being accepting of everyone and every type of music. I think I'll round up my roommates for next week and have them for encouragement.

I'll leave a link to the song I recently learned for this weeks TradSoc session, but sadly did not sing. 

Mary Black, Colcannon

That's all for now,

Chloe

[chloestoker]

I haven’t read many books since high school. So, you probably remember me talking about this one: Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris.

Sedaris writes in short stories, mostly about his life. They are hilarious and at the same time truly insightful. I’m on my third book. Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls, his most recent book, I bought as a treat for the long and grueling plane ride to Ireland. I’ve been saving the chapters, and three weeks in Ireland, I still have half the book to go. I don’t want it to be over. I’m not.. ready.

Among his short stories, he writes about his travels around the world. His travels take place across his lifetime and span Europe, South America, and a few cross-country book tours in America. Reading about his journeys, as I make my own, explain the advantages and frustrations of living abroad. You may see me post a few of his quotes in order to explain the cultural differences I’m experiencing. I may even follow with my own. Here’s one about politics:

In the U.S., unless you’ve written about politics, you don’t expect political questions. Overseas, on the other hand, it’s pretty much all you get, at least if you’re an American. I could have written a history of frosting and still they’d have asked me about Guantanamo, and my country’s refusal to sign the Kyoto Accords.

- David Sedaris, Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls

My first cab ride in Galway was coming home from the pub. With four girls shoved into the back seat, I sat in the front with the taxi driver. He began to talk to me about the latest political debacle America was involved in, Syria. I’d already been briefed at this point to talk as little as possible about politics, especially after a few pints. The driver went on about Obama, and I offered what little I could, “At least he’s better than Bush!” Hoping to stifle the conversation, my comment only fueled his fire. After reaching our destination, all four girls piling out of the back seat, the taxi driver put his hand in front of me. “You need to hear this,” he said. After what seemed like hours, I was finally saved my the knocking of a hand at the window. I thanked him for informing me and we went our separate ways.

This was not the last time I was asked about American politics and I'm sure there will be plenty more. It’s surprising that given their international involvement, or lack there of, that the Irish seem so well informed and opinionated. Take note, Americans.

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On the weekends, many Irish students go home, mostly to work but also to have their laundry done by "mammy" and eat a home cooked meal. My roommates are among them. Although some weekends I'll be alone in the house, I don't feel guilty about traveling since they won't be home.

This past weekend I traveled with 5 girls from my program to Cork, Irleand. Cork is a large county in Ireland, which holds Cork City in its center. It is the second largest city behind Dublin and very much a "city" compared to Galway. The city is separated by a river and it's most scenic view is on it's bridges. Much like a city, it is filled with concrete and bus stations, construction and chain stores. Unlike Galway, there's little greenery. The roads are still paved with stone, but modernized stone that are evenly cut and polished. It was great to visit another city in Ireland, but it had me missing Galway, and oddly La Crosse.

The weekend was filled with the chaos of finding our hostel, paying for and catching the bus to our landmark destinations, and misaps including but not limited to climbing dangerously steep hills luggage and all, an unfriendly conspiracy theorist Canadian, and stumbling upon the city center on our last day. But I'd much rather share with you my favorite part of the trip, visiting Blarney Castle:

Blarney Castle

Just a short bus ride from town the driver let us off on a seemingly normal shop street. But wonder over a bridge, take two lefts and you come upon the gates of Blarney Castle. The entire compound, which includes a poisonous garden, waterfalls, and modern house, stretches across miles of land. The castle stands with an eroding tower. For much of the tour you're asked to "use your imagination," which is understandable with a open ceiling and uneven floors filled with rock. The entire castle is open to visitors and groups separate exploring the different rooms that once housed a priest, kitchen and ladies room. The narrow stairs and low hallways challenge the picture in my mind. 

The Blarney Stone

Once you've reached the top of the castle the missing roof provides a great view of the land beyond Blarney Castle. At the top a small man sits with his legs hanging over a hole between the fortress wall and the surrounding floor. One by one he holds us while we lay on our backs and scoot to the edge. He laughs as he pushes me further and further down the hole saying "not yet, not yet." When he pulls me up is when someone snaps a picture. This memento will have my grandchildren asking why I kissed the grey old man. Before safety was a concern, visitors were lowered by their ankles in order to kiss the Blarney Stone. The prize to those who kiss the Blarney Stone is the gift of eloquence, though others say it's the gift of the gab.

Wishing Steps

Next to the castle is the Poison Garden. Filled with actual poisonous plants, sniffing, touching and tasting are strictly prohibited and children must be accompanied by adults at all times. Hold on to your seats Harry Potter fans, the garden actually grows Wolfsbane and Mandrake! Further out into the ends of the compound are a set of stairs that lead to "the witches kitchen." Legend says that the witch takes wood from the property to use in her kitchen, but by doing so she must grant visitors wishes. If you walk down and back up with your eyes closed and think of nothing but your wish, your wish will come true in one year. Dragging my group to the wishing steps after having read about it on the map, we each made our way down and back up the stairs. The superstition and magical nature of the Irish culture is what really gets me. I feel like American history is more patriotic but based on fact not folklore. Giddy, I left a cent for the fairies under their tree and prohibited any flash photography of my wish making. We'll see what happens in a years time..

Kingsale

Forty-five minutes south of Cork is Kingsale, a harbor town facing the Atlantic Ocean. Arriving into town kids are pulling their own miniature sail boats out of the water. Wet-suit and all they pull their boats up to shore to be sprayed down. The idea of a town being closed on a Sunday isn't new to me, especially coming from La Crosse. Sillily enough, I was still shocked when the doors remained closed and our tour was limited to staring at the ships sail by and enjoying a few fish and chips. I picked up a few souviners from a man whose shop was decorated with police station patches, one from each station he spent a night in. Quite a few were from America! It was good 'craic,' but three days was long enough and I was happy to return home to Galway.

Until next time,

Chloe

[chloestoker]

A 'wishing tree' or 'fairy tree' are found on the oldest trees in Ireland. Although they are small, most trees are over a hundred years old and grow very slowly. To use a wishing tree, you tie a piece of ribbon around one of the branches and make a wish. If the ribbon is gone three days later, the fairies have granted your wish.

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Wishing Tree

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Connemara

Our latest excursion took place this past Saturday. At 10 AM we boarded a bus and drove through the twisting roads that lead to Connemara. Connemara is a large district in west Ireland known for being untouched by man. Just the country side in and around Galway is spectatularly green. But Connemara is different. We've moved away from the bounding hills of County Galway and entered the mountains. The mountains are covered in greenery and small waterfalls that start from the very top and make there way down splitting into the ancient granite along the way. Sheep seem to be the only inhabitants, and are spread from one end to the other. The white specs at the top of the mountain which look like snow are sheep. Apparently they like the cooler climate and come down once the rain and snow start to fall.

The farmers mark their sheep, who all graze the Connemara mountains together, by painting them a mixture of colors. 

Kylemore Abbey (Castle)

Located within the heart of Connemara is Kylemore Abbey. The Abbey was orignially a castle built by Mitchell Henry as a gift to his wife who loved the Connemara scenery. When she died the Benedictine nuns, who lost their abbey to the destruction of World War I, bought the castle and converted it into an abbey. The nuns then opened an all-girls boarding school at Kylemore. The world-renowned boarding school has had girls from all over the world, including Modanna's daughter. Three years ago a business man purchased Kylemore and turned it into a tourist attraction. The nuns live across the road in a refurnished farm house and frequently visit the abbey and the gothic church on its grounds.

Now the abbey is open to visitors, though realistically only 1/4 of the castle it open to the public. After walking out, I wondered what the rest of the castle was being used for. The Abbey also has a gothic church just a few minutes walk from the castle, built after the death of Henry's wife in memoriam. 

Traveling just a few hours outside of Galway the weather changes drastically. In Connemara it was cold and rainy, while back in Galway it rained just a bit and the winds weren't as strong. It was good be to back after a long day on the bus full of winding roads, rain, and bitter wind.

[chloestoker]

Roommates (Long read)

All in all, I’m finally settled in my apartment. Yes, a week and a half later, a total of 9 roommates, two apartments and one move, I’m finally settled. My first apartment, No. 57, was one of the many townhouses in our complex, Gort na Coiribe. With three floors it’s suppose to home five students for a semester.

Hannah Kittler was my first roommate at the apartment. Originally from Massachusetts, she is very shy and nice. Drinking and going out aren’t her forte, but we have a lot else in common. We’re both very nice and caring, home bodies, and love to watch The Office as we fall asleep. I embraced our living situation as a way to keep me grounded this semester and stay true to myself. I’m starting to see that Hannah is the ying to my yang. We help each other in ways I wouldn’t expect. She settles me and I bring her out of her shell.

Six days of living alone in peace and quiet, we were eager for our Irish roommates to arrive. Monday came and we finally heard voices in the kitchen. After collecting ourselves, we casually walked downstairs. About 10 boys sat squashed into a space meant for 6, their eyes glued to the screen playing Irish futbol (different than soccer and football). It was only after they each went around and said their names, ages, and hometowns that I noticed none had asked for our names.

Hannah and I decided give our new roommates time to unpack and leave the apartment. An hour later we return to the thick aroma of weed. Hannah and I continue on our daily routine, making dinner, studying for class, and getting ready to go out with some girls from our program. Beats start pulsing through the walls when we realize someone has plugged two giant speakers into the kitchen downstairs and are playing techno/dubstep. It is 6:30 PM.

The guys invite people over and again they squash into our small shared living area. Smoking ciggarettes and rolling spliffs, every surface is covered with cases of beer. Hannah and I continue to get ready, incidently locking ourselves out of our room and having to retrieve a key card to get back in. Unfortunately after 5 PM reception closes and it’s up to a security guard to let you in. I learned this the hard way. After telling him my Irish roommates had just moved in and had people over and I did not want to get them in trouble, he addressed the boys individually and asked them to close the windows, draw the curtains and keep the noise down. Once let into out room Hannah and I made it clear to the whole party we had misplaced our key card and were not trying to “snitch” on them. All seems well.

Hannah and I leave around 9 PM to meet a few friends for a drink at a pub. As we’re leaving we notice the numbers have grown to 20 people. Smoke has created a thick fog and the stench of alcohol reminds me of a bar. We walk home together at 12:30 and find our apartment trashed. Bottles and beer cans cover every surface, the remnants of a Smirnoff vodka bottle are scattered across the kitchen floor and cigarettes and been put out on our kitchen table. We enter our bathroom and prepare for the worse. Our bath mats have been used to mop up puke and the hand towel we bought is missing. I find a half drank, still cold, Bulmer’s in the hallway. I shudder. It’s mine. Returning to the kitchen I find they drank my beer and my wine.

Our roommates return home around 4 AM, loud and billigerant they continue their party/rowdy bedtime routine until 5. At that point I walk into the hall way and ask our roommate Kenny, if they could please keep it down. His drunk friend barges in our room and asks us if we want to see some girls in their underwear, who are running around Kenny’s room and the hall way. I quietly retreat back to my room.

As I shut my door I hear them yell, “Fuck the Americans! We’re in college!” All hope is lost. Minutes later the techno music from earlier in the night returns. This time, though, it sounds much closer and much louder. The Irish have placed their speakers outside our doors and turned them to the highest volume. The boys start kicking and pounding on our door and walls. After a while the techno music turns into Irish folk songs and the boys (I assume join hands and) sing along poorly. This continues until 9AM when the music is turned off momentarily and someone replaces the speakers with their personal laptop to play annoying internet songs. Think Nyan Cat [Original]. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, google it. You will feel my pain.

The speakers return at 10 AM as Hannah and I drag ourselves from our beds to spend a day on campus. A string of emails are sent to our director and housing supervisor, but our future remains unclear. Hannah breaks down from the homesickness and the idea of living in apartment 57 for the remaining 16 weeks. Day 2 is similar, but this time the fire extinguisher is missing and was heard being used in the upstairs hallway. Quizno’s sandwiches (which is a thing here) are strewn across the kitchen floor and trail upstairs to the second floor hallway. From the looks of it, someone attempted to throw the sandwiches at the bathroom door. Sadly, they did not stick. My eggs and cheese are gone, someone’s pipe is put in it’s place. I’m living in a frat house.

Yesterday Hannah and I were moved, unfortunately not together. Hannah took a spare bed in another API room while I moved into a bigger house with five Irish girls. I think I can handle it, and my director points out that I will be completely emersed in the Irish culture. It wasn’t really a decision sense Hannah is already having a rough time. I’ll be sharing a room with one of the Irish girls on the third floor. She hasn’t arrived yet, and the girls living there now aren’t sure if they know her. They all seem nice.

Until next time,

Chloe

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The Aran Islands

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The Aran Islands

This past weekend I took a day trip with the Marist girls to one of the Aran Islands. The smallest and most accessible Island, Inisheer or Ins Oírr, is the one we visited. Three small islands make up the Aran Islands which are just off the coast of Ireland. Separated by the Atlantic Ocean, we took a ferry from Doolin to Inisheer.

I do get motion sickness. This isn't news to many of you. But to say this ferry ride was rough is an understatement. I thought the ship might capsize from the waves. The wind and the waves from the ocean current, make it difficult if not impossible somedays for the ferries to travel. Yet, they make the journey back and forth about four times a day. After a few minutes inside the boat, which apparently is the worst place you can sit, I quickly went outside and held on to the rail. No amount of dramamine would have helped. A few people asked me if I was alright. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, two small girls in rain coats ran around the outer deck taughting me. Approximately 45 minutes later we arrived.

The islands are small, and usually have just a few cafe's and pubs. Ours had two cafes, one located in a nice ladies yard, and one pub. Most visitors will rent bikes on the island and travel from one end to the other, which on the largest island is 9 miles. Instead, we walked up the winding roads until we reached the ruins of two ancient castles. Standing on the stone wall, which outline the perimiter for each man's property, you can see miles of square stone walls one running into the next. The islands all have beaches with prestine white sand and crystal clear blue water. Despite the wind and the grey skies, people return red with sun burn.

Near the islands are the Cliffs of Mohr. On our return ride to land we could see them getting bigger and bigger in the distance. It was breathtaking just from a far. I can't wait to get closer. The tiny waves, which were vicously rocking our boat looked so small crashing in to the cliffs. This will be my next trip, maybe after Cork.

Love and Dramamine,

Chloe

[chloestoker]

Thus far, I have visited a number of local pubs for live music, conversation and beer. I can describe their insides and contents, but the names and locations escape me. I've also ventured out to campus quite a few times and signed up at the local gym.

Where's the Crack?

The Irish use the term craic (pronunciation: "crack") for the word fun. They constantly say " Oh, that's where all the craic is." or "It was good craic." It took be by surprise at first, and thought they were referencing the drug. I don't think they call it that here, because it didn't seem phase them that we might misinterpret their meaning.

Other common phrases: "A wee bit." "Thanks a million." - (pronounced Tanks) "Fuck" - (pronounced Feck, or Fack) "How are ye doing?" (Ye for you)

Closed for lunch

It's also very common for businesses, local and national, to close for lunch. Usually from noon-2 every one closes their doors for a long lunch period. It sounds nice, but when you have a two hour break to go to the bank, get locked out of your apartment, or want to do laundry, you might as well pick up a hobby or download a good app on your phone 'cause you're waiting..

Irish men

I haven't gotten a firm read on the irish men here. One night out, we ran into a "stag" party (which means a bachelor party) and I heard a ton of rude jokes and was grabbed at least three times below the waist. One man came up to me and asked if I wanted to try the "Dickin' Cider". When I asked an older gentlemen if all the men are like the bachelor party, he sighed and said yes. Also, back home you may see that one or two really intoxicated individual who's swerving and staring. Here, it's all of them. They're also very rowdy, pushing each other into groups and swinging one another while dancing.

Cold Showers

The Irish don't have electric heated showers and instead the water is boiled in the furnace before being released. This means most of the time, cold showers. I've been here almost a week and have had only one warm shower. The best time for a warm shower would be in the morning after the furnace has been saving all of it's energy. Never expect to take a warm shower if your roommate has had one in the last few hours. There is a way to heat the shower at those odd times of day like at night, but it takes between 30 minutes and 2 hours to charge up. Besides the initial discomfort it's not too bad as your hair is likely to get wet from the occasional drizzle that happens at least once a day.

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I wish I could talk to all of you who studied abroad again. I think it'd help to hear your ups and downs, and how you found the silver lining. I've made a few friends, a couple girls from New york. Bridget, Caitlyn, and Caroline. They go to Marist College in Poughkeepsie, New York. They're loud, beautiful, and funny. We get along quite well, because we can handle our alcohol, like to go out, and are relaxed.

I feel kind of strange though. After I turned 21, I've been spending less time in the bars and more grabbing an occassional drink with Ashley, and/or whoever seems to be in town. I feel like I'm reverting back to my early 20's with this trip. Drinking a lot, doing stupid things, staying out too late, and obssessing over guys.

Tonight tested me. Faced with the exahustion of staying out the night before and getting up early, I was planning on going out for a while but coming home before midnight. Alas, I didn't. Some is the inconvenience of needing a buddy to walk home with, but mostly it's my fear of loosing the friends that I made.

I'm not sure what the answer is. Finn, our resident director told us that this experience should help us learn more about ourselves, gain confidence in ourselves and our decisions, and change our view on the world.

I think right now, I'm realizing that my own personal well-being is more important that "fitting in" or "keeping up" with friends. I think that I would have been more happy to have stayed in tonight, caught up on sleep, written my mom, written in my jounral and written in my blog. The struggle is that then if I don't go out, I worry that my friends will forget to call me the next time they go out. I think this semester will be a test to be true to myself and silence my insecurities.

That's all for now,

Chloe

[chloestoker]

Hello All,

I'm sitting in the Minneapolis airport right now, waiting for my gate to board. I have some time so, I thought I'd start this blog to keep you updated on my time in Ireland. A few of my friends had asked if I would keep one while abroad. Although it's not mandatory for my study abroad experience, I thought it might be a good idea. I'll be 6 hours ahead my friends in the Central time zone, which can make communication difficult. I experienced this when Eva, Mel, and Meghann studied abroad in London, England last spring semester.

My week has been stressful getting ready. I was still packing up until 7:00 AM this morning when my neighbor rang my doorbell to take me to the Holiday Inn. Some of you may not know, but I hate to check a bag. I will try my hardest to fit everything between a small carry-on and my back pack. For this trip, checking a bag was inevitable. In case of a delay or.. the loss of my luggage, my program director suggested we pack a small carry-on with a few clothes and some essential items. Alas, mine is over-packed and will most likely end up being checked at the gate and my "essential" items will be narrowed to my jacket, computer, a few books, and some strong sleeping medicine for the plane. Did I mention that the expandable handle on my carry-on broke? Better yet, it was broken and my mom thought she could fix it and put it back in storage with the other luggage. *Sigh* Mothers.

Why don't I tell you a little about where I'm headed? I'll be living in Galway, Ireland for just under 4 months. Galway is on the western part of the island (the red dot in the photo), directly across from Dublin (the red arrow). It's about a three hour train ride from Galway to Ireland, similar to the drive between La Crosse and Milwaukee. The population is 70,000, just 20,000 more than La Crosse. Galway runs along the river Corrib and picks up lots of wind from the boarding Atlantic Ocean. It rains quite a bit in Galway. Home to the National University of Ireland, Galway, I will be attending the college as an Irish Studies student. The campus is a mixture of old and new. Stone buildings line the the square while new, more modern shaped buildings made of glass and recycled copper are located on the outskirts of campus. Galway has been described to me as both the most "Irish" of all the cities in Ireland, as well as, an international hub, a university town, and tourist city. I'm excited to discover all of it's nooks and crannies.

Per usual, I love/hate the airport. No matter how well thought out or executed I will never exude the casual ease of a frequent flyer. Where are you going with just a small satchel? How does all of your luggage match? Why are you not disheveled, lost and on the verge of tears? Is that your child with the cute british accent? Where do I get one? I'm saving my new David Sedaris book for the six hour flight from Chicago to Shannon, but I'm running out of material and don't want to loose my audience in the first post.

For now,

Chloe