AmericanAuthor

I have started dreaming about bookshops. Massive, second hand treasure trove bookshops to be exact. The kind where you can wander/meander/hunt. I am deeply, painfully nostalgic for bookshops right now. 

Bookshops like this one are some kind of wonderful oasis. They let you play with time, stopping and starting as you wish.

I crave that phantom rush of excavation from the bargain bins and the neutral chaos of back room shelves. The silent, rapid rush of victory.  

I made poetry with book spines and collected Penguins from a rickety cart, blue Fleur de lis stamps inside the cover indicating a long forgotten gesture at organization. 

Collected incomplete bound sets of maroon encyclopedias and even a volume of plays and poetry with an inscription left behind:

“Lottie dear, I could quote Poetry but you know poetry isn’t  in keeping with my size (even tho I love it) So -- always happiness to you and my love. Bronna.” 

I’ve found sheet music from the 19th century alongside pulp science fiction.

And crime novels from the 60s with damsels in distress. 

Children’s books about Wonderlands and chronically late rabbits. 

And classics fifty years later. 

I know how fleeting these places can be in the physical world, there one day and gone the next. Treasure troves taken for granted, orphans destined for pulp. At least for all the times I can’t visit in the corporal, I can visit in the spiritual. Close my eyes and open my mind to that sprawling, musky majesty of  isles soaked in adventure and romance and mystery and travel and all the things that make the human condition bearable. 

Recently, my U.S. grandparents lost a good friend of there’s in London. They’d known her for almost seventy years. Mom arranged to accompany them for the funeral and I vacillated between going for a weekend visit or not. My friends were coming to Dublin from the U.S. for only a few days that weekend, and on top of all that, he was planning to propose. So I knew I would miss the proposal celebration which ate me up inside. But I hadn’t seen my grandparents since the going away party my parents hosted in August of 2018 and it was just about to turn into April of 2019. So, on the Tuesday before the Saturday I arrived in London, tickets were booked for me and off I went. Thank you to mi familia for making this opportunity possible -- it wouldn’t have been without your generosity, just like any of the last 25 years wouldn’t be possible without you. 

Back to the story... after getting to the airport way too early and an hour flight later, I was in Paddington Station surprising my grandparents. There’s a video but I can’t figure out how to add it in? So you’ll just have to believe me. It’s adorable. 

Then we went for lunch at an Italian restaurant near our hotel, aptly named after my mother.  Since it was close to evening time and it had been a long day, I went for a coffee with mom (who was a trooper, being very bummed out with a cold but carried on) before going for a wander on my own. 

The wander let me take full advantage of my portrait mode, as one does. 

Soon I got the idea into my head to ask a friend in Dublin who had lived, worked and loved in London for the year before where to go for a cheeky midday cocktail. Cocktails are my new 2019 brand. He recommended some places and after walking the soles off my feet...I arrived to find vomit on the sidewalk at one, and at another a fairly Popeye-esque looking woman with one glass eye and a scar serving pints. I wandered back to the hotel, showered and took myself out to a nice dinner around the corner at an Indian restaurant where I happily ordered wine and biryani. After delivering my bedridden mother a ham sandwich and bugging her by talking through an episode of ‘Murder She Wrote’ I fell asleep happily. 

The next morning (Sunday) Mom and I went to breakfast (again, near the hotel and apparently at the local cop joint which was a bit intimidating) before setting off to the Brick Lane Market. Mom, Mommom and Pop had done Portobello the day before so Brick Lane was ours for the taking. We also ended up throwing in Spitfield Market as we were there. But between Brick Lane and Spitfield we went for lunch and I finally got my cocktail of the trip. 

Mom and I split Cheeseburger Dumplings and Mac&Cheese balls (both delicious) while I nursed a “Top Dog” (all I remember is it had prosecco in it). 

Then we stumbled around Spitfield Market for an hour or so before lumbering back to Paddington and our beds to rest before dinner and a show. We had a quiet dinner at the hotel with Mommom and Pop before heading to the West End to see “The Play Where Everything Goes Wrong”. Mom had seen it in New York in 2018 and it was very worthwhile seeing. Highly recommend. I also recommend being almost 5 minutes to curtain time and having the woman in front of you at security pulled aside because she has a steak knife in her backpack and doesn’t understand that that’s not normal as an accessory for a night at the theater. 

The next morning was my last (I flew back in the evening) so after a delightful little panic spell (yay! Grad school!) in my hotel room I hate breakfast with mom and then we four set out to Covent Garden market. I bought Sam’s birthday present (he won’t read this so it’s safe here! or else he’d go looking all over the house for it...) and had a delicious chocolate bunny. Bought some vintage postcards of Dublin and then we headed back to the hotel and I headed off to Heathrow via Paddington (with way too much time to spare but that’s what airports are for: day drinking and wasting time). 

Finally arrived safely on Monday evening to an exhausted Sam who had come all the way out to the airport to journey the near hour home with me. 

It was a fantastic trip and very special to get to see my grandparents even if it was for a sad occasion. 

Oh, and despite her getting me my own room and telling me approximately 48,000 times that I was going to get her cold...I got mom’s cold.

Why, hello there you. 

The other day I found myself thinking “I wish there was just some place I could put down my thoughts, really clear out the pipes”. Turns out I’d actually forgotten in the midst of everything that I was author of this little corner of the internet as well. 

This isn’t the first post like this I’ve ever done, nor will it be the last. In college I used to write these at the Writer’s Center, in that corner desk, nursing piss poor coffee I’d run through our thirty year old coffee maker. Back then I was terrified of what to put on the internet; I can read those posts now and see all the vague illusions I wove in about crushes I had, stress I felt (which I was not, for the record, dealing with in healthy ways) but overall my sense of optimism for the future. 

Lately I’ve been dealing with some serious noggin stuff. See, I can’t even write that seriously. Sam asked me the other day how I do everything I do, and coming from any one else I would have told some B.S. about organization and coffee but because it was Sam I told him the truth : I get up and I do it because I have to, and because sometimes I wear my depression like a ball and chain at the ankle. It comes with me to the bus, to class, to work when it wants me to stay in bed. It makes me tired, it makes me irritable and it makes me weepy but it comes with me I don’t stay behind with it. 

I fell into bed this morning (it’s a Saturday, God Bless) and asked Sam if he thought we’d run away from our responsibilities by moving to Europe. I told him I had counted the other day the number of Facebook friends I had who were married, and half of them had kids. “Yes, but we’re getting them back bit by bit.” He’s a smart jelly bean, that boy. 

I have another two weeks as a student at Trinity left. As a card carrying, library using student I’ve got several months (whaddup dissertation due July 12th) but as a coffee drinking during lecture, classmates congregating around tables to talk about our weekends student I’ve got what amounts to seven days left. It was certainly different, coming back four years older. Friendships, I’ve found, don’t get harder when you get older it just gets easier to notice the habits earlier that scare you. Told you, I’ve been dealing with some stuff. I’ve met some amazing, inspiring people on my programme. I’ve learnt at the alter of Trinity and I am making my way down a laundry list of final essays before the dissertation and before I can fully submit to a job hunt. 

It all started with an episode of Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (season 2). I was in bed, a cold dreary night in December while Sam was at work. Likely, I was snacking on a sleeve of cookies. Hey, I’m setting the scene for you! Midge Maisel steps out of a taxi onto a Parisian street. Her father, Abe, banters with the cab driver about the price of the fare. Her mother arrives later in the scene, beret wearing and bagette bearing. She is light, she is at ease and she is flawlessly the romantic French woman. I started googling flights absently. I found a great deal...and the rest is history. We were booked to Paris in a month. Sam, being very accustomed to this being my method of travel planning, embraced the spirit of the evening. 

We left Dublin on Saturday January 12th. Arriving in Paris that evening, it was evident that it was Sam’s first trip outside of the U.S. beyond the move to Dublin purely based on the smile you couldn’t for love or money wipe off his face. 

After a chaotic moment in a train station, we found our hotel (thanks Mom!) and dropped our suitcase -- we’d both opted to bring warm, functional clothes, thankfully! -- and headed out into the night. I’d prebooked us a Siene cruise the day before (10 euro online, 14 at the door!) so after a visit to Notre Dame...

and the purchase of a beret, a sampling of Orangina and crepe we were on the water! 

It’s something close to magic to witness someone seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time. It’s pure magic to witness Sam see it. 

I have once bought the novelty photo from a tourist trap; it was in Minnesota in the summer of 2017. Jack and I had taken the view of America virtual reality tour. I was flying high and wanted to commemorate that moment. When we stepped off the chilly barge that evening in Paris, onto the chilly embankment I surprised Sam by purchasing my second ever novelty photo. It was refreshing to have a photo of us that wasn’t a selfie...and tell me you would pass up a photo of someone *this* happy. 

After our boat tour, the reality that it had been a long day hit like a sack of bricks and this influenced a dinner choice like it never would again. I’ll just say, twelve euro for two cokes did not go down well. But it taught us to shop around when looking for dining options. Also, thankfully no where else proffered the ketchup before we’d even ordered anything so that was a once off too. 

The next morning, Sunday January 13th we woke early and headed to City Hall to collect Sam’s museum pass. 

Which promptly reminded me I’d forgotten my Irish passport at the hotel. So back we went, and then onwards to the Jewish History and Culture Museum. 

After the Jewish Museum, hungry again we found our way back to Notre Dame and from there to the gaggle of restaurants I’d frequented when in Paris solo in August 2017. After selecting a three course lunch for 10 euro each, Sam delightedly sponsored wine with our meal and declared he wanted wine with every meal from thereon. No more twelve euro Coke’s for us, Garcon. Only your finest five euro red, please. 

Sam’s first attempt at French Onion Soup concluded, two hours later we made our way to the Muse D’Orsay. Arguably, my favorite museum for its scale and its collection of Art Nouveau furniture, which I took Sam around and insisted if we ever won the lottery, we’d split it between first edition comics and outfitting our no doubt chic European apartment in Art Nouveau furniture. 

And perhaps unexpectedly but very pleasantly I’d arranged to meet a fellow traveler, Chuck, and his colleague Michelle for coffee. Very kindly they treated us to coffee and hot chocolates in the cafe of the D’Orsay behind one of the massive front facing clocks. 

One of Sam’s bucket list things to eat, was a macaroon. Tick that off! After the Muse D’Orsay we wandered and hit up a Laduree, where our single vanilla and salted caramel macaroons seemed very slight behind the order ahead of us of almost twenty macaroons in a pink and lavender box, complete with tissue paper. It didn’t dampen our spirits; Sam, on his first bite, remarked “It’s like ice cream, in a cookie!”.  

Our wander avec macaroons ended in another of Sam’s bucket list food items: fondue. We’d returned to our neighborhood from lunch and tempted by the offer of free wine for “being first tonight!” and the ability to split one fondue for two (most places were exclusively one-for-one which when budgeting, can be killer).  

The second glasses of red we ordered after we’d finished our “free cocktail” added to the evening’s ambiance. So did when a dozen American college students came in with their chaperones on an organized trip, and our friend the jovial French restauranteur who had co-erced to fondue and free wine gleefully bought a bag of frozen snails from his neighbor on the street.  Escargot! 

Monday January 14th started at the Mecca for Art Students: The Louvre. 

Following our three hour jaunt around the biggest museum in the world -- during which Sam must have taken 10,000 photos -- we treated ourselves to French McDonalds. Tres fancy! 

Then it was time for the real treat -- Angelina! Sam had been trying hot chocolate’s around the place but I’d kept Angelina a secret until we walked in and no word of a lie, he said upon entering the dainty, porcelain serving and chandelier lit cafe “Oh, good thing I wore my khakis today!”.  

You could have rolled us out of the place in the end, but it was worth every drop.  To burn off the solid ten pounds of chocolate in our guts, we walked to the Musee De L'Orangerie and discussed impressionism like the pretentious Liberal Arts graduates we are before heading to the Arc de Triumph. 

And then, because our legs didn’t hate us enough yet, we walked to the Eiffel Tower as well. I was shocked to see  the now necessary bullet proof glass surrounding the base of the monument. 

Oh, and Sam almost got scammed in the “bracelet scam” that I first heard of in 2010 when I visited Paris with People to People. Honestly, I’d stopped believing it was real until a man in the park around the Tower emerged from the shrub, tried to tie a friendship bracelet on poor confused Sam and I grabbed his coat, yanking him away.  

With our legs finally giving out, we hopped a Metro and blessedly made it back to Notre Dame in a few minutes. Exhausted, it was still too early for dinner so we did the next best option...found an Irish pub, in Paris.  We’re marketing students; brand consistency is 101. 

A pint (or two) later we shuffled back out onto the street, and once again were fooled by a fast talking Frenchman who despite Sam’s insistence for “Muscles?!” for me, seated us in a restaurant which absolutely did not serve muscles. But they did give us free wine again, however, this time I let Sam enjoy my share as the pints had done their job nicely. It was in this restaurant that Sam first tried raclette. After the other worldly experience he mumbled something to be about never being able to eat cheese again, but having enjoyed his last dance with it in Paris. 

Tuesday January 15th was our last day in Paris. I am putting in writing now that Sam has since requested next time I give him the option to pick a 9pm flight that I do not do so. We had ever intention of heading to Sacre Coeur, even made it to the Metro station platform. Then two trains crammed full of people passed us and after a quick five minute “wait...you’re too tired to enjoy that too?!” conference we instead decided to go to some comic book shops, do some last minute shopping and maybe sneak in a crepe or two. 

By Tuesday at midnight we were safely back in bed in Dublin, exhausted but content. 

I love reading; I love the feeling of it in my brain. It opens doors I didn’t know were closed. It helps me focus, re-orient and when I am reading -- seriously, knee deep in a book -- I am calmer, clearer-headed in other aspects of my life also. 

People are always asking me for reading recommendations, of which I am shy to make. Discovering a book on my own, or by someone sharing their own experience with it, has often proved most fruitful for me. It is an intimate process, choosing what to read. It’s a unique trust game, I suppose. 

This is as the title suggests a woefully incomplete post about books. I suppose I’ll go with a chronological method, relying heavily on my instagram for assistance. We’ll start with 2018...

In 2018, the book which brought me back to myself was “Rabbit Cake” by Annie Hartnett. It was the story of a child, who’s mother had drowned due to a sleep-walking incident, and how the pair of sister’s and widowed father left behind coped. It was weirdly perfect. 

But my favorite 2018 book? That goes to Rebecca Makkai with “The Great Believers”. 

In 2017, I adored “Almost Famous Women” by Meghan Mayhew Bergman. The short story collection was near perfect. 

In 2016, I met Emily St. John Mandel with her novel “Station Eleven” which still lives in my memory every time I take a flight. 

In 2015, I beyond loved “Girl Runner” by Carrie Snyder. Growing up, I’d had a huge crush on Chris O’Donnell from a five minute clip of the “Circle of Friends” T.V. movie I’d seen (another great book, I must admit I was quite a Binchy fan in my teens!). Then I saw him in “Fried Green Tomatoes” and I remember not at all understanding the real tones of that brilliant movie, but I remembered Chris O’Donnell’s character death. And that’s not to say that “Girl Runner” is “Fried Green Tomatoes” but I can’t explain that one makes me think of the other, intrinsically linked by the universe they both made for me. 

2014 was an excellent reading year. 

I was handed “Malcolm Orange” by the publisher, after I’d moved to Ireland and taken the bus to a town I had no idea where it was -- and now I take the bus through that town every day -- to go a publishing season preview party. I was gifted “Malcolm Orange” because Jan, having recently been to D.C. (where I was attending undergraduate with a brief break in Ireland) was someone the publisher recommended I read. 

“The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender” by Lesyle Walton still holds the prize for one of my favorite ever lines: 

Neil Gaiman’s “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” came into my life: “"Adults follow paths. Children explore. Adults are content to walk the same way, hundreds of times, or thousands; perhaps it never occurs to adults to step off the paths, to creep beneath the rhododendrons, to find the spaces between fences."

I suppose that’s where we’ll leave it for today...

Yesterday, was not a good day. I took a walk to get some head space, bought a coffee I most certainly could not afford and sat on a bench in the drizzling rain. This post isn’t going to be about a breakup, or anything like that. I feel like I have to preface it with that, just like I have had to preface that now we are not secretly engaged. 

Social media fills us with these idealized images of champagne, confetti and sparkles for the New Year. Mine was much different. It was alone. Sam had work -- funfact, we’ve never had a “nice” New Year together having now missed midnight together twice, and twice I was so sick that I couldn’t stay awake or much less do anything besides watch Netflix. This was no different; it was a Monday.  

I wrote on the 31st to accompany my “Top 9″ Instagram post:

“Without disregarding the reality that 2018 was challenging for anyone, I've seen a huge pessimistic culture sweeping social media lately about the change of year. I prefer to be optimistic. 2018 taught me patience, reminded to accept what I cannot change and to never be afraid of asking because the answer could always be yes. But it couldn't have been the year it was without my family and friends, near and far, by biological and chosen. I feel like these collages (and social media) are inherently narcissistic but within reason it's acceptable to gauge the passage of time. This year ripped past. Heading into 2019 with one intention: hold on tight.” 

And then on the first day of 2019, I had a bit of a breakdown. There were several variables to said emotional release, some environmental and some having built up without attention for weeks at an end I found as I sobbed at the top of my stairs to a Sam staring at me with wide, doe like eyes. 

Yesterday, on the first day of 2019 I wrote: 

“I am thinking a lot this morning about living a life of gratitude. I had a realization this morning that a part of my life was so draining because I was meeting an energy of expectation of with my auto-setting of gratitude; and not realizing that had totally trained my resources...but by becoming aware of the ratio of gratitude/positive energy I was spending to counter that negative, I feel more equipped to go back to facing challenges with kindness and not bitterness. It’s not the easy option to lead a grateful life. It takes conditioning, sacrifice and constant maintenance. I’m no saint, nor am I saying I’m very good at it. Not at all. But I know I want to try. And trying is worth something. We live in a world where ‘getting’ the thing is more important than experiencing the moment. I know that sounds cheesy but it’s true. Moving countries in 2018 taught me more than I can really capture. It taught me material goods are nice but not necessary, It taught me friendship is most beautiful at its hardest moments. It taught me to see situations from perspectives outside my own. Gratitude breeds empathy. Going into 2019 with the mission to give love and friendship where I can and forgive what I cannot control. I never knew this side of myself before, so I’m excited to meet her and get to know better what she can do.”

I only went and had another birthday. I know, I know -- it seems like the last one was just the other day. And to be fair, since starting Grad school my twenty-four had felt a lot closer to the end of my twenties than the earlier half. 

This is my second birthday abroad; the first I turned twenty-one and I remember going to a restaurant-club with friends and telling the bouncer at the door that my birthday was in a week. “I’m going to be twenty-one,” I slurred. “That’s great, love.” 

My twenty-second and twenty-third birthday’s were quiet affairs -- basically I went shopping in Friendship Heights with Emma and gave myself permission to empty my bank account and buy whatever I wanted. One year it was a particularly fancy bra and another year, a line of skincare products. 

For my twenty-fourth, Sam and I took a day trip up to New Hope Pennsylvania. He gave me a beautiful necklace with the scorpio constellation and we had lunch, walked around and I bought a bushel of letters that would end up becoming the last iteration of Flea Market Love Letters. Then there was the legendary El Centro brunch of the never ending dishes. I’d be lying if I didn’t wake up on the 11th this year with the taste of churro on my lips and missing the bottomless mimosas of my youth. 

Leaving D.C. in August was emotional; I wasn’t worried about getting to Dublin and not making friends -- I was worried about making friends who would make my twenty-fifth birthday actually fun. I didn’t want to spend my birthday at home; I wanted to be out in the city I love with people who make me laugh and forget problems, then get thru them together. 

It didn’t help that the night (Friday) of my party it was biblically raining outside. Sam and I got so drenched, that at one point I couldn’t open my eyes for how waterlogged my lashes were. I was convinced no one would come; but Sam kept me distracted by letting me show him an hours worth of “Recommended for You” videos on Instagram and nursing a pint with me. 

Then a few friends swam up. Then a few more. And before I knew it, there we were having a party. 

Pictured in this photo there are three Indians, four Americans, one Russian, one German and one Irish. Not pictured there are more American’s, some English, a handful of Canadians, and a Dane. I said it the night of the party and I’ll say it again here: getting to celebrate my birthday with this incredible crew of international badasses was the best night I could have hoped it would be. 

There were at least four different types of cakes, brought at three different times. There were presents so sweet that I rarely had words other than “Oh my god, you guys!”. 

I think my favorite part of the evening was when, several Smithwicks in (Hey! It was my birthday!) I came back from the bathroom and our Professor had released our second term schedule and we all stood, with our phones in hand cheering and jeering our schedules for the next four months. Nerds. 

I even embarrassed myself learning Bollywood dance moves -- good news, Mom and Dad: I still have no rhythm! 

Then of course there was my baby cousin who’s not a baby any more and who can drink me under the table with her fancy fruit-punch fish bowl cocktails while still looking fabulous and fresh. 

Anyone should be so lucky to have as many fabulous parties as I’ve had this year -- it’s the truth, the title: “Surround yourself with good people, and you’ll have good times.” 

After Mom’s visit, it was Dad’s turn. Two days later. After a trade mission with the state of Pennsylvania wrapped up, Dad kicked around Ireland for another two weeks -- one of those weekends, taking Sam and I with him up North. 

There’s something about getting out of your routine that does wonders. Sam and I used to do it in D.C. by spending the night at his parent’s in Maryland or even sometimes making the trek to Pennsylvania for the weekend with mine. With school and work and everything so hectic, we hadn’t taken a day to ourselves since the trip to Glendalough in September. When Dad suggested a trip up North, and that he would drive (!!!), I jumped at the chance. 

So on a beautiful, crisp October Sunday we first visited cousins in Newry, Co. Down. That’s where Sam met his horsey best friend...

and where I met a dog named Sam.  Sam* then killed a rabbit during our family lunch, so I’m not super thrilled in retrospect to be photographed so close to a cold blooded murderer but apparently he only rarely catches the rabbit so he’s not murdered too many times to be concerning. 

*Dog Sam

We took a walk to stretch our legs and then it was off we went. Dad headed onto Derry for business, while Sam and I tucked our backpacks above us and arrived by train to Belfast.

After exploring Belfast on Sunday night-- and I kid you not, hearing a street performer on the fiddle playing “Hava Nagila”, a sign! -- on Monday morning Sam and I started our week as any normal, emotionally stable people do: with a two hour Black Taxi tour. I think this was the last documented photo of us happy for at least a week. 

It was Sam’s first trip across the border ever, and his first time in Belfast, so having the chance to get a one-on-one private history tour like that was a chance we couldn’t pass up. I’m a big believer in knowing what you’re talking about, and living in Ireland during Brexit has been enough of an experience that I’m grateful Sam got to see the consequences of partisanship. 

For a bit of levity after our taxi ride, we sought shelter from the rain in a comic book store where I found Sam’s doppleganger. It’s part of a series I’m making of Sam as Ed Sheeran. There are enough I am considering a coffee table book. 

Because Sammy Boy had work that afternoon, it was a half day in Belfast and then we were off back on the train to Dublin. But it wouldn’t be a blog post from me without a pitch -- so check out Make a Difference Luggage (MadLug) out of Northern Ireland. https://www.madlug.com/

They’ve helped almost 10,000 kids in foster care across the U.K. and Ireland move around temporary accommodation with dignity by providing them with luggage. 

Here I am sporting the MadLug Burgandy Backpack I picked up at the Good Summit at Trinity the week before. 

Yesterday we finally took the bus tour I had booked for us in June and which I’ve rescheduled three times. It was an afternoon trip to Glendalough, and absolutely worth the price (of 22 euro) if you’re interested in seeing the sites but not seriously hiking or spending more than about seventy minutes there. 

Before you arrive at Glendalough, you’re taken to Lough Tay, or “Guinness Lake”. Which I found absolutely stunning. 

The land and lake are owned by the Guinness family, but contrary to urban legend that is not the water with which Guinness is brewed. 

Off to my left you might see the yellow ropes? There was a hut constructed there with a sign that said “FILM CREW ONLY”. Our driver told us that it was a prop from the show “VIKINGS” and that there is 24 hour security that watches it round the clock. 

Lough Tay is famous for “Vikings”, “Braveheart”, “P.S. I Love You” etc. The Wicklow mountains are just breathtaking and if you have access to car or rental car while visiting Ireland I highly recommend. I booked us the tour as we’re not going to be renting a car any time soon, so it suited us to get out of the city and see some sites in comfort. 

The tour took about five hours, an hour with change each way for the drive and a decent amount of time at actual Glendalough. I wasn’t thrilled when we got there because of the fact there is some semi-serious walking (for older people) to get to the actual lakes, which isn’t detailed in the description. However, I was with the ever optimistic and happy Sam so he did his best to keep spirits high as we trekked in the drizzling yet never ceasing rain. And afterwards I got a tea and scone which was lathered with the most delicious, creamy salty butter. 

This is the only good photo either of us took of the actual lake. At this point we’d walked around the first lake ( “Glendalough” meaning “valley of two lakes”) and spent our energy on way too many pictures of trees. 

When you first arrive, there’s a graveyard and ruins you can explore. Apparently according to my grandmother I have relations in this graveyard. A general wave to the ol’folks and we were off to find the lakes. 

For those of you who have seen the animated Book of Kells movie, this is a round tower -- for the same purpose, to protect illustrated/illuminated manuscripts from the Vikings and/or other invaders. This shot doesn’t show the door, two feet off the ground designed for retreat and escape from invaders. 

And here’s the “New Church” which has reportedly never been restored and dates back more than a few centuries. As Sam said upon seeing it, “built to last”.

When you set off to the lakes, I do recommend the boardwalk path if you have the time, though I chastised Sam for choosing the boardwalk path as it’s 1.6K to the bigger lake and not the 1.4k of the other path. The other path for starters is mostly uphill, which in the rain would not have been ideal. The boardwalk path also takes you around more of the actual “park” or natural areas. 

I’m not a huge nature girl. I do not hike. I like the reward of tea and cake at the end of basically anything, be it a staff meeting, class lecture or nature walk. I’m not picky. But when I’m anywhere with Sam he can usually inspire me to relax and it’s not hard for either of us to get goofy. 

And it really was quite breathtaking. Very quiet and still. 

After attempting to each dry ourselves under the hand dryers in respective restrooms, we shuffled back to the tour bus and home to Dublin. For a bit of fortification and to dry out, we ended up at a pub with a friend and a plate of particularly disgusting “nachos” which we ate none the less, ravenous adventurers we are. 

You might have read about the Papal visit to Dublin in August. Coming from D.C. (where we prep for marches/visits like East Coasters prep for snowdays) I knew we wouldn’t be going into the City for the weekend. The City planning committee had made it very clear there would be roads closed and disrupted public transport. So instead, we were left to find entertainment elsewhere. Delightfully, there are some very cool places that are cheap and easy to get to from our front door. 

1. The Pearse Museum.

The Pearse Museum is under an hour walk from where we’re living. It was formerly a great house, which Pearse and his family turned into a school at the turn of the century, and which was a functioning school until the late 1930s. Now it’s a public museum, curated to the same excellent level as the National Library in Dublin. 

The gardens themselves are a great place to pass a morning. I didn’t do a lot of research besides knowing we were heading in the general right direction, on the Saturday of the Holy Weekend, so we ended up walking around the outside of the estate when in reality there’s a much faster straight line to the Museum. But if you have the time and don’t mind a nice, shady walk I recommend dedicating a morning to it. You won’t regret it.

I wrote my thesis on Yeats and 1916 so I really enjoyed the museum -- I also enjoyed that it was free entry (!!!) -- and Sam, who is learning about Irish history day by day said he didn’t find it confusing but that it might be easier for someone who knows a bit more about the timeline of Irish history to feel was less of a tour of a beautifully maintained building and rather a museum. 

After our walk and tour, we grabbed lunch from the cafe on the estate which was lovely. Sunshine and quiet. 

2. Dun Loaghaire. 

On Sunday, still avoiding Dublin City Centre, we boarded the bus to Dun Loaghaire. It’s about forty minutes one way. Dun Loaghaire is a costal town, about twenty minutes by DART from Dublin. I visited regularly enough when I was on Study Abroad that it was nice to be back, but I still found some new spots to visit without feeling bored. 

Before meeting a friend, we walked the pier and split a “99″. A  “99″ is a vanilla ice cream soft serve cone, with a bit of flake Cadburry bar. They are very rarely 99 cents any more and this one certainly was not -- but I love a good rainbow sprinkle. And as it was Sam’s first “99″, he didn’t seem to complain! 

When we arrived and moved into the house, I picked up a “Heritage Week Guide” from the Castle beside our new village. With neither of us starting school or commitments for a while, we set about scouring the free events for interesting and eye catching things we might do. Heritage Week is a series of days in Ireland where heritage sites across the island hold specific events or special tours, to help interest visitors and locals in their very existence. 

Our tour of Glasnevin Cemetery in total took about three hours and had about forty to fifty guests. I have toured Glasnevin previously, but always find something of interest when I get to go there so going with Sam was a unique way to pass an afternoon. We saw the tomb of Daniel O’Connoll, as well as the first gate to Glasnevin from the 1830s. I visited a few famous Irish heroes I’d been shown before, and learned of several new, lesser known people who interacted with Irish history just as closely. I recommend touring Glasnevin if you’re interested in history and ever in Dublin for more than a few days; it’s easy to get out to and the tours are affordable and enlightening. 

After our Heritage Week tour of Glasnevin, we hopped a bus back into the City Centre and grabbed a burger at our favorite Burger spot -- Bunsen. I always black out when I eat burgers there, mostly because I’m usually “starving” when I get there and by the time I feel back to normal I’ve inhaled whatever I ordered. All I know is it’s delicious and the secret is out; back when I was an undergraduate I knew of one location -- now I know of at least five, and I am always recommending it to visitors and new friends alike. 

Our next Heritage Week (free) activity was the Saint Patrick’s Cathedral After Dark Instagram evening. Typically it’s a suggested donation to enter Saint Patrick’s, so last time Sam and I were in Dublin in October 2017 we decided we’d skip it for next time. This evening was fun because you had to email ahead to reserve a spot, and you entered with about fifty other people and you had full permission to take photos of anything and everything. It was so bizarre to see people lying on their backs with their iPhone’s over their heads snapping away at the beautiful arched ceilings of the Cathedral. 

I enjoyed getting to walk around at my own leisure and read the signs, or watch Sam take what ended up being what must have been a sixty part Snapchat story.

Pictured above are the helmets of the Knights of Saint Patrick. Interestingly when we toured Rathfarnham castle two weeks ago, the tour guide told us how one of the owners in the 19th century was a member of the “prestigious” Knights of Saint Patrick. 

When we emerged, there was a beautiful rainbow over the Cathedral. I tried to capture it and in some photos you can see it better than others -- like the below. 

All in all, though we were only able to fit two events into the calendar the Heritage Week offerings were of great value and I’ll certainly keep an eye out for next years booklet! 

Sam and I were up early Friday for our daytrip to Kilkenny. Having been before with family, this was my first time taking the train. 

We arrived and walked from the train station to the city centre, where we strolled around Kilkenny Castle’s gardens before ducking into a local hotel’s restaurant for fortifications (I’d had the chowder there years ago, and it did not disappoint this time!). 

We had an afternoon tour of Smithwicks booked, so having done Guinness in June of 2017 on Sam’s first visit to Ireland I was determined he’d get to the Smithwicks brewery tour. 

I first took the tour when I was visiting in college and since then I’ve drunk almost exclusively Smithwicks. And just like Guinness, there is something different about it crisp and cold out of a tap here than in the states. Pure nectar. 

I think you can tell from the photo below that Sam didn’t disagree. 

Unfortunately we had to cut our trip short -- the fact we’d moved countries only a week before finally caught up with us! We were home safe and sound back in bed in Dublin for 7pm with a good mini-adventure under our belts. 

It’s been almost a week since Sam and I moved to Ireland. I have been describing the last seven days as the longest, shortest week of my life. 

We left the States on Tuesday August 7th, and arrived in Dublin on the morning of Wednesday August 8th. After dropping off our cases at our accommodation for the night (before we would be moving into the house we’ve arranged for the year) it was hot showers and lunch to be had. We walked around, hoping to beat the jetlag and picked up the bare necessities we’d need for the first few nights in the house: pillows, blanket, some towels. Once that was in hand, it was back to the accommodation for a scheduled nap, broken up with some dinner around the corner and a few drinks to toast the Greatest Adventure (yet).

  Thursday we went to finalize the details on the house, after breakfast. Some paperwork and an uber ride later we were in business. We were, but the hot water wasn’t. And neither was the stove, it seemed. But we had electricity, a bed, and a roof -- things were going textbook. 

On Friday we did some local exploring, of the Rathfarnham Castle -- which is about 3 minutes walk from my front door and was the perfect, light way to ease into the village. 

There’s a charming, the only word for it, tea room on the left side of the Castle. They served our tea in china cups. Sam looked like when the Giant climbs down the beanstalk and it was absolutely worth the few euro. 

Saturday was Dublin Comic Con -- it was packed. 

Having attended the Baltimore convention with Sam (as vendors) I thought I had an idea but this place was jammed with people right for the 10:30am opening bell. There were Thor’s and Deadpool’s and Rick and Morty’s galor. The first floor, the “traders floor” was a bit of an overwhelming bust -- lots of overpriced figures and American snacks (hadn’t we just left the USA?!). After regrouping, we headed up to the “Artists Alley” and that was well worth the morning. I enjoy “local” things, so seeing Irish -- most Dublin based -- artists was interesting and it was fun to chat with them, telling them we’d only just arrived and how Sam had booked the tickets on the bus the morning we’d landed. It seemed a very appropriate welcome to the city, for him. 

We wrapped up in the middle of the day, had two big bowls of Ramen for lunch and putted around town before back out to the house for the night. 

When you’re planning a move like this, and you have buckets of spare time, you can get over-excited. I certainly did when I booked us a walking tour for the Sunday we arrived. Dead on our feet, thankfully I was able to reschedule said tour to the following day and on Sunday we took our time. My aunt and cousins came to visit, bringing with them an apple tart, lots of friendly laughter and the earth-shattering news that our stove did indeed work, we just hadn’t hit the right switch. Mind-blown. 

Went out to one of the three restaurants (two of which are not open) in the Village for lunch and finished the day with a few pints in the pub beside the house (very cozy for a drizzling Irish summer’s day) -- Sam, watching the hurling, spent the majority of our time there googling things and educating himself which I find both adorable and admirable. It was off for naps and a nice home cooked dinner before we cracked into Netflix. Even a good omen of a neighborhood cat. 

Monday saw the 1916 Walking Tour I’d rescheduled -- having been on the tour nearly four times, I enjoyed getting to walk around with Sam again and show him the spots and talk about figures I’d studied while on my third year exchange, but as the guide was a “guest” guide and not the usual, he was a bit dry and the two hours got long by the end. It was still well worth the few euro. Lunch with another aunt and a distant cousin visiting from America, some Murphy’s ice cream and a pint of Smithwicks in the Stags Head had us home and in bed again with Netflix just as the sun set. 

All in all, it’s been as I said, the longest short week of my life. I couldn’t tell you how happy all this has made me, and how grateful I am to each and every one of you who sent us off with warm wishes and has written us as we settle. We couldn’t do any of this without you -- and thank you for staying a message app away as we figure this all out! Now book your tickets and come visit -- there’s plenty of Adventure to go around for us all...