Ryan Air: An Exposé

I've mentioned a certain airline many times over the course of this semester, but never have I gone into satisfactory depth.  Now that I have finally booked the remainder of my European Adventure with said airline, I feel it's time to bring RyanAir to light.  It's time for the rest of the world to know the ins and outs of my best friend, worst enemy, and everything in-between.  Our relationship status over the course of this semester has gone from hot, to lukewarm, to freeze-your-toes-off-cold...then back to hot many, many times.

When RyanAir + Courtney = BFFs
Location: Online, typically on Cafe y Te's WiFi, on a sugar/caffeine-induced high.
Event: Purchasing tickets to go to other countries.
"Have you heard of Crete?"
"It's a €24 round trip...who cares? LET'S GO!"

When RyanAir + Courtney = Lukewarm Acquaintances
Location: Airport, prior to flight.
Event: Attempting to pass the "Bag-Fit Test" by shoving carry-on bag into the teensy-weensy and unyielding metal box.
"You have to fit your purse in that too.  No extra bags."
"I know, I know..."

It's not Brussels-(Charleroi); let's call it Destination: Middle of Nowhere

When RyanAir + Courtney = Unhealthy brother/sisterhood
Location: Visa check desk, security boarding gate, airplane.
Event: Getting passport and visa checked 6 times.
"Can I see your passport? Can I? Can I?"
"Me too! I wanna see it!! Where's your boarding pass? I wanna hold it in my haaaaand."
"Gimme! I wanna see it!!"





When RyanAir + Courtney = That Moment at a family holiday when That Relative does something awkward, but everyone looks away and pretends everthing is fine
Location: Standing-room-only cattle car bus.
Event: You know, if you parked the plane closer to the gate, we wouldn't have to take a bus to the plane...
"Hm, what's that now?  No, this is perfectly normal.  All the airlines are doing it.  I'm sure of it."

When RyanAir + Courtney = Partners in Crime
Location: On airplane, seated and buckled.
Event: Drinking Stella illegally.
"It is not allowed to bring alcohol onto RyanAir flights...for me, it is not a problem, but don't let my colleagues see."
You know what, attractive German male flight attendant? You're cool.

When RyanAir + Courtney = Valiant Competitors
Location: In line at the gate of any RyanAir-supported airport.
Event: Passing the "Bag Fit Test."  This is why I even took my heavy coat to the Grand Canaries.  When I sit down on the plane and uncover the purse I've hidden in the coat oh-so-casually thrown over my arm, I have the sense of elation that only comes with Winning.

Shhh.....

"Ha-HA, RyanAir, I have 2 bags on your little aircraft!"

When RyanAir + Courtney = Mortal Enemies
Location: In line at the RyanAir-infiltrated Charleroi airport security.
Event: Having to check the carry-on because the wheels on my mom's teeny-little suitcase are a teeny-bit too large for the Box Fit Test of Death.
"That will be 60 euro.  Go wait in three separate lines to check the bag, pay, and collect your passport."

When RyanAir + Courtney = It's Complicated

Location: Destination.

Event: The passengers clap, music plays, and a cheerful woman's pre-recorded accent comes on the PA system..."Congratulations! You've just arrived in yet another on-time flight onboard RyanAir..."
Let's just ignore the fact that we're clapping because the plane landed, shall we?

Monica, Maddy, and I are in the midst of our post-study abroad program travel plans.  Nearly all of our flights are through RyanAir, because despite of all the aforementioned issues that may lie between us, RyanAir is still maintains the least expensive and most attractive website around.  So here's to another round of trips with Europe's cheapest airline.  But please, if you must raise a glass--make sure you brought your own non-alcoholic beverage aboard, because a 6-oz can of Coca-Cola costs about €4.

¡Salud!

Eating Clichés

Apologies for the formatting...iPhone blogger technology isn't quite up to par yet.

The day began at 4am in Paris. Monica, Maddy, and I stumbled out of our creaky hostel mattress beds, packed our stuff as quietly as possible so as to not wake our roommate (you try shoving airplane-approved liquid plastic baggies in a backpack without disturbing the peace), and hopped on the airport shuttle.


Breakfast: leftover baguettes from the downtown bread lady.

EasyJet landed us safely in the Italian town of Pisa. You may have heard of it...they have a famous tower with some faulty foundation work. Well. We had several hours to kill, so we spent them with the hundreds of other tourists, taking the exact same pictures as they did. Okay, the same photos, with the exception that we were unshowered and dressed poorly. But hey--YOPO*.

While acting like 5-year-olds, we met a wonderful kind stranger who once was in a similar position we are in. She traveled 35 years ago for 8 months...on $10/day. She handed us €20 for "coffee money," saying she wished someone had done that for her back then.




We weren't about to go against her wishes, so:


Lunch: Cappuccinos and pizza (not at the same time), just down the street from the tower.



From there, it was time to hop on RyanAir's flight to Crete.

Crete: a Greek island in the Mediterranean. Commonly mistaken for Athens, which does indeed harbor rioters. However, Crete is a happy place full of tourists and marvelous beaches.

Dinner: The Best Gyros Ever with a side of Coke. Total cost per person: €3.30

Don't get me wrong, I loved Paris...but I couldn't even sneeze at the copious amounts of pollen drifting through the air without paying €5 first. Right now, we are about to pass out from pure exhaustion (let's just say the bus from the airport wasn't exactly a direct line) in our little baby apartment-hostel. We have a pool, a balcony, kitchenette, sheets, towels, outlets that work, and a TV at this place we will call home for 6 days. All for €8 per day, which, if you don't think about the exchange rate...sounds a lot like $8!

Today began with baguettes in Paris, pogo'd over for pizza in Pisa, and ended with gyros in Greece. On the menu front, it truly can't get more stereotypical than that.

Today was a good day.

*YOPO-- You Only Pisa Once. Really though, because there's actually nothing much to Pisa except the tower.

Bonjour, Mr. Eiffel

So, this was my night...

Maddy, Monica, and I have officially begun our travels together.  For the next couple of weeks we will be bopping around Europe; trying the different cuisine, sitting on various grassy knolls, and playing by famous national monuments.

We are starting in Paris.

The first hostel on our two-week tour has a view of the Eiffel Tower, if you walk outside and crane your neck.  They also provide sheets if you have 7 euro you're not doing anything with. 

Yesterday, we had one thing on our agenda:
The Eiffel Tower.

We climbed it (668 steps before they let us use the elevator), gawked at it, took dozens of obnoxious photos with it (No, I'm sure I'm the first to jump in front of the Eiffel Tower), stared some more, then enjoyed the sunset with a bottle of wine (alright, 5) and some Pizza Hut.

We would have enjoyed the foie gras for dinner, but I am not quite sure that that is...and my fancy food fund was spent on not sleeping directly on a bare mattress. 

I'm in Paris.  

I'll say it again, because I will never ever get tired of saying that.

I'm in Paris.

Mm, quite.

Salud from Santander

Today, i traveled 15 hours across the span of Spain by taxi, bus, and multiple trains. My suitcases are tucked away at the Estacion Sur de Autobuses storage lockers in Madrid. Thanks to the official Spanish-world takeover of Corte Ingles I was able to get wifi and obtain a hostel in Santander, where I now sit with my glass of vino tinto.

All this in 15 hours, with only the guardian angel pin sent from my grandma for company. And yet, I still have to be home before midnight.

After all that, we wouldn't want to be locked out of our hostel now, would we?

Hallo from Gent!

For the past week I have been bopping around Belgium, then Spain, and back to Belgium with my mom! We have been having a lovely time together in Europe.

I have had very limited access to Internet/English keyboards/Time to myself, so I have been amiss with my blogs as of late. However, she brought me one of those fancy machines from the states that the kids these days are calling "The iPhone," so I have some access to the inter-webs via this shiny apparatus. The keyboard and baby-sized screen are not very conducive to extensive writing, so this will be brief...

No actually, she´s my mom, not my sister.

Who: Susan and Courtney Barry, with our BFF Nathalie (see Dia de Andalucia blog from March), who was our Rotary exchange student 18 years ago.

Where: This weekend, Gent.  But today, a day-trip to Brugge!

Belgium: So great I had to come back.

Barry Time

As family, friends, and acquaintances have known for many years, I have a very poor sense of time management.  I would like to say it runs in my family, actually--a learned defect. Some friends like to call it Barry Time.

It may help to think about it mathematically:

STh + .50h = ATh

(Let STh be Scheduled Time, h = hours, and AT = Actual Time)

Translation: I am typically a half hour late everywhere I go.  But not for lack of trying and many guilty apologies.  These things just happen to me.

The Sevilla oranges don't care if I'm late.  They are delicious regardless.

Since studying abroad in Spain, my character trait has since been forgotten.  Here, that´s just Spanish Time.  However, now I realize that I possess something even more dangerous than previously thought: Courtney Barry has zero sense of time.  My semester in Spain has flown by so quickly that I honestly feel as if I've dreamed it all up.  Any minute now I'll wake up back in my twin Sevillana bed, where I've probably been creeping Sarah out with all the giggling I apparently do in my sleep.

But then, when I consider the first days here when no one knew each other, I couldn't even order a meal in a Spanish restaurant, and my roommate Sarah thought I was an interesting combo of lesbian-hick-beauty queen, (due to advance facebook creeping--can't say I blame her) it seems like years ago that we were unpacking our suitcases and trying churros con chocolate for the first time.

I would say it was unfortunate that the last week of our program was finals week...but who am I kidding.  That was the least amount of studying I've had to do since 7th grade P.E.

Here is a brief repaso of our final week as Spanish locals:

Sunday

"It's 80 degrees--let's go to Isla Magica!"

"I have a paper to write...but *YOLO!"

Because 75 degrees is basically winter in Sevilla, we had the entire park nearly to ourselves.  We rode El Jaguar until my head was literally pounding.  Spanish theme park rides evidently have different safety standards than the standard smooth rides we are accustomed to in the U.S.

"That cookie ice cream bar made me a ltitle sick...but hey, who's up for Mexican food?"

Another paradox.

Spanish "Tex-Mex" is an interesting concept. They somehow manage to combine all the basic elements of a taco into something that does indeed look and act like a taco...without tasting remotely like anything that's ever come from anywhere south of Michigan.

*YOLO = Dirtbag expression for You Only Live Once

Monday

"Alright, no more playing around. I'm really going to write that paper now."

3 hours later

"Look, I finished my journal! 500 pages full of study abroad secrets. I shall call it Gretchen Wieners."

"How's that paper coming?"

YOLO!

Tuesday

Start and Complete: 4-page Spanish paper about the links between food, emotion, and memories.  I knew I wrote something similar last semester for a reason!

Wednesday

"I have a Spanish grammar test tomorrow."

"It's 91 outside...let's go paddleboat!"

YOLO!

And oh, what fun we had on the Guadalquivir. It's only €15 for the unlimited amounts of pure joy you can have in an hour on a boat.  Why didn't we do this every day??

Unfortunately, here is where the "last times" really start to kick in: 

• Last time Sarah and I walk to class together.
• Last dinner with friends.
• Last time walking home across the puente at night with this group of people.
• Last time I have to study for  Spanish grammar test (not all "last times" are bad).

Thursday

Spanish Grammar: So maybe it isn't my best work, but that thorn in my side has now been collected along with the final exam.

Photography: Final projects turned in on the Flickr account made especially for fotografia: Nearly all of my assignment interpretations (It is art, therefore there are no rules) are of me and others playing in Europe.  We all toast with the sherry our professor (and dear friend) Pablo brings.  Not to brag or anything, but I'm definitely in his Top 5 Favorite Students. Kudo points are easy to score when you are one of three to show up to class field trips.

Memory Project Cover: The time we went to a Sevilla futbol game.

Rosa makes a traditional Spanish favorite: Salmorejo, a cold, refreshing, and rich cold tomato-ey soup dish. Thank goodness, because I haven't stopped sweating since I woke up at 9am in 85-degree heat.
I meet for the last time with Elena, my intercambia.  Elena is quite possibly my favorite person in all of Spain.  Besides always telling me how good my Spanish is (debatable), we can drink Coca-Cola for hours and talk about everything from Magic (her boyfriend is a fan) to **canis.  Look for me on Twitter soon, because I'm going to make an account specifically to stay in contact with this wonderful person who has taught me the ways of the Spanish culture and language.
Last night experiencing Spanish nightlife, as it's unlikely I'll be toting my mom around to the bars after midnight when we visit next week.


**Cani: Basically, the Spanish version of a guido.  Gold chain, music like "oomp-ss, oomp-ss," exhibits many qualities of a tool.

Friday

NO.  There is no way it's our last day.  First of all, how on earth to fit four months of stuff into three bags...
Sarah and I keep our minds off the task at hand (packing enormous amounts of stuff) by blasting Call Me Maybe and Boyfriend on repeat.  I'm not proud of our recent musical obsession, but I'm not ashamed either.

When we leave the house after our last lunch as a study abroad family, it is 101 in the swimming pool of humidity that Sevilla has turned into.

Last ice cream at Rayas with our traditional Wednesdays at White group. Typically, we meet at our favorite café for tostada and a decent amount of petty gossip. However, this emergency meeting was called in order to say--not adios, but--hasta luego.

Our little familia.

Rosa, Sarah, and I sit down to our last meal as a family in front of the TV as always. The only thing that's changed since January in that regard is that we no longer use the estufa that resides under the table. To a resounding cry of "¡Aye, mis niñas!" Sarah and I leave Rosa a framed picture of the three of us, and she gives us traditional Sevilllana abanicos (fans) to ward off the heat but attract the hombres.  

For the last time, we bid buenas noches to a semester of familial love, Spanish women drama, and a lot of hilarious cross-cultural misunderstandings.

At this point, I know that I will return to Sevilla in just a few days to show my mom the sights, but this feels strange nonetheless.  My inability to grasp the concept of time has become abundantly clear as I reflect through all the adventures we've had in the last four months.

Today

I mean hey, it's not over yet.  At this moment, it's time to give in and shut off the light as Mom and I have some serious relaxation to enjoy on the beach early in the morning.  I am back in Sevilla, living in my house in the neighborhood of Triana for the last few days before I say goodbye for good an indeterminate amount of time.  But not forever. 

Sevilla, you've been good to me. 

Yeah...I lived here for four months. 

The Great Paradox: Budget Traveling

The semester for los extranjeras has ended, and the question "So, where are you going afterwards?" has become the new "Where are you going this weekend?"  For some, saying goodbye to their mamas de casa also means saying farewell to their friends abroad, daily café con leche, and our beloved Sevilla.  I will miss you greatly, home-goers.  Eat some peanut butter and Mexican food for me, and watch a TON of American TV.

Our last dinner together...aww, I'll miss you guys!!

For others, saying goodbye to our madres means leaving our bags in their attics and setting off to discover Europe.  As romantic and free-spirited as that sounds, this is where it gets ugly.

First Issue: Sevilla to Santander

It turns out, you can't just "Go see Europe."  There are details involved.  To start, the plane tickets.  Sure that €6 flight from Santander to Paris sounded great a month ago, and was of course the best impulse buy I've ever made, but how to get to Santander...

• Plane:  My dear friend RyanAir, who tricked me into thinking I could just "go to Paris," in the first place, has suddenly become evasive and distant on SkyScanner.

  

  Maybe these guys could give us a ride...

• Bus: Delightful.  Make sure to buy the ticket in advance, or you may not be able to sit next to sweaty strangers for hours at a time, and could even have to resort to...
• Taxi:  Expensive, but not unheard of.  However, it's not recommended to take a cab further than home from the bars school, let alone cross (or to another!) the country.  
• Train: Chyeah, see you in about 5 hours and  €350
• Hitchiking:  Alright, I know it sounds crazy to accept a ride from a stranger on the side of a highway several miles outside of town who just happens to be going the same general direction, but my cousin Kevin did it all the way from Belgium to Morocco.  Besides costing almost nada, WOW, does he have stories.  So, it's not completely off the table.

I mean, we built a sleeping fort in the airport before...

Second Issue: Where to Sleep

After logging hours on convenient websites specifically designed for budget travelers, I have learned a few things:

a. There are a total of 5 places to stay in Santander.

b. Good luck finding anywhere to stay for less than €70/night in paris.

c. Ohhh, so you don't want to share a twin bed with three people?  Fine, that will be €200

d. Because of aforementioned b and c, we can't stay in Paris forever.

Third Issue: So...where are you going?

Our adventures* after Paris depend almost solely upon hostel prices.  Specifically, the cheapest place to stay...in Europe.  But wait! You have to get there first.  this is where it gets tricky...

Back to SkyScanner

From: Paris (any airport)                   To: Everywhere 

Results and Analysis:

Croatia is on their own Croatian kuna or pebble or something...so that means living there is basically free after you pay €250 to get there, right?

We could get to London for €23, but then they use the British pound, which is worth even more than the euro. This translates into...ballpark, infinity x infinity in expenses.

So no London.

Back to Skyscanner.

*Adventures could turn into singular adventure if the euro doesn't crash very soon, so my bank account can stop doing such an uncanny impression of a sieve.  "What do you mean, exchange rate?"

Fourth Issue: Storage

The one concrete thread in this international tapestry of travel plans is that I will only have one regulation-sized, RyanAir approved backpack with me throughout the 3 weeks of travel.
FACT: I have not been living out of a backpack for the previous four months.  Try my backpack, giant suitcase, a normal airline carry-on, pink duffel, and aaaaalllll the wonderful European things I've acquired in my stay here.

It's all fun and games until someone has to PACK.

Like, shopping in Sevilla is fabulous.

How do you pack a flamenco dress? 

Does it roll-up okay?

Storage options:

Airport:  €4/day.  So €4 x 15 days. Warning! Items left in storage past 15 days will be given to Lost & Found.  Neat.

Rosa's House: Free, unless you count the detour through Sevilla to pick it up on the way to catching my flight from Madrid to the U.S. 

Storage Unit:   €20/month, plus two trips through whatever metros, buses, and taxis with four massive bags to get to and from the unit.

Bring 'em Along: {*Sound of RyanAir laughing darkly as my debit card is torn into a thousand pieces*}

Perhaps this should be First Issue, because the plane tickets I purchase depend upon the mode of storage I choose.  And vice-versa.

Issue 5: It's Nice Outside

Please. All I want to do is play on the swings.

This would all be quite manageable, if paddleboating on the Guadalquivir, sipping iced café con leche in my favorite plaza, and tanning on the roof didn't all sound so darn appealing.  How am I supposed to focus on the cold, dark, money-sucking world of the interwebs when I could be outside playing??

Cue the deep, Spanish-woman sigh: ¡Ooehwei! 

First-world problems are just killer.

Pouting Abroad

I should be studying, so today I'll just leave the one picture. However, please do note that the "study" part of "study abroad" has begun to make itself known.  You can know this because...

a. I've been banished to my corner office (the bed).
b. This does not mean I'm unable to access the unlimited distractions found on the internet.
c. Specifically, Facebook.  My fb friends could note a spike in activity, such as posting on things that do not pertain to me specifically, but have attracted my attention because I do not want to do this thing called "work."
d. "Work" is actually a loose term here.  I have to write one 4-page paper (hey, it's in Spanish), compile my cooking class recipes, and study for two finals.
e. The words write, compile, and study are misleading, and should be replaced with copy and paste from old papers, copy and paste from others' notes, and glance at Sarah's notes.
f. I'm wearing my Never Give Up running shirt.  This could be taken as an inspirational note, except that my running shoes are actually dusty (not the dirt kind, the dust mite-and-dog hair kind), I've given up approximately 57 times in the last two hours (Pinterest needs me), and I only put it on in the first place by accident. I'm going sleeveless because it's hot.  I want to enjoy the weather.

Look how dark and photoshopped it is in here.  Feel sorry for me!

I would make reason "g," but I think I found another YouTube video to watch.  

Also I need to pout more.

Feria de Sevilla

La Portada at night

Keeping with true Spanish form, Feria itself has no commemorative significance.  It is today, and always has been, an excuse to party.  For months, Sevilla's finest workers have been constructing la portada, which is the entrance to the fairgrounds.  On Monday evening, la alumbrada occurs.  This is when the entrance is lit up, and the 7 days of Feria officially begin.

Feria is a magnificent but complicated event, with many elements.  I'll break it down into the main points.



Flamenquitas

Imagine prom, with the labor of shopping, hours spent poring over magazines, and hundreds of dollars spent on all of the "perfects"...The Perfect Dress, The Shoes, The Jewelry, The Hair, The Nails.  Take all those elements.  Multiply that by 7--one for every day of Feria.  Tighten the dress (who needs to sit, anyway?), making everything flashier, and remove the age limits.  Oh, and put a flor on top.  There you have the women of Feria.

Riding Sidesaddle
Los hombres ride around on horses, wearing their typical suits and flat-brimmed hats.  Somehow, these Sevillana women have been born with an innate ability to wear the tightest, most fitted flamenco dress imaginable, and still mange to swing gracefully atop the caballos to ride sidesaddle with their well-dressed men.

Careful in those puddles...

Collectively Hot
Personally, I would like to know where these men of Feria come from.  Also, where they go at the end of the week.  There is something about a nice suit that will make any guy's attractiveness level skyrocket from a 5 to a 9.5 in the amount of time it takes to put on a tie.  Teach him how to dance Sevillana, and we find the masses of Perfect 10s that roam the casetas of Feria.

Maybe NEXT year we'll get the carriage

Horse & Carriage
Families will rent out a driver, carriage, and a team of horses to bring them to the grounds of Feria. With the recession hitting Spain so hard, this mode of travel was less popular this year than in the past. The basic carriage rental starts at 500 euro a day. And that price doesn't even come with the horses decorated like walking Christmas trees. We took the bus. 

Chillin' in a private caseta. We know people.

Caseta
Casetas are what brings all the elements together. It's a family party with all your closest friends; eating catered food and drinking rubijitos, the typical drink of Feria. Well-off families, business, political parties, clubs, etc. rent out their own tent for the week. They are elaborately decorated, and typically include a bar, tables and chairs, and an area for dancing. Los privados have a bouncer at the door, so namedrop if you can. If not, there are also several large public casetas. But there, you have to hang out with the peasants, tourists, and common riffraff. It is much better to just have a connection to a private tent (or a connection to a connection) if you can't drop the dough for your very own.

Feria in the daytime.

Sevillana
I highly recommend you take 39 more seconds out of your day to learn more about the Spanish culture and find another reason to move to Spain.  I posted a link below.  This is the typical dance of Feria, and just about everyone knows it beautifully. For los extranjeros who neglected to take lessons beforehand, you may either clap along to the beat (easier said than done) or make a fool out of yourself on the floor. I chose to do both.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krD420Rdwj0

Sevillana dancing

Blanquita

While Monica was told time and time again how Spanish she looked, I usually received an awkward side glance..."What do I say to the blonde?" I just told everyone I'm Swiss. Or I made conversations in Spanish with an Irish accent. At this point, people may be wondering why and how I, a whitey-white girl, was able to participate in such a spectacular show. The story of how, where, and why should be another blog post in itself. But in order to save myself some time and embarrassment, I'll merely thank Ron and Debby Miciak for making it all possible. Two full days of playtime in a flouncy dress made me feel like a Spanish princess, and I had the time of my life.

FERIA: Imagine if high school prom ran away to the deep Spanish south and eloped with the county fair. Their child is taken by Social Services for obvious reasons, then sent away to boarding school to extract all the tackiness, brush away the opposition to Looking Freaking Great, and shake off all the disappointment that comes with hype. Because unlike prom and the county fair, Feria literally can be the best time of your life. No amount of hype over this event can lead to disappointment and heartbreak. This is Sevilla.

Twirling

Oh, and I rode this in a flamenco dress. I've never been happier. 

Holiday in Ireland

I have been traveling and playing in too many countries and with too many cultures to write anything for the last couple of weeks.  The adventures all started back on April 20th in Dublin with three good friends.

The babushkas were sleepy at the airport

Sevilla --> Dublin

Plan: Pack efficiently, then go to bed early enough to be well-rested at 5am.  Eat tostada, stop at Starbucks (no one else opens before 7), and be bright-eyed and chipper at the bus stop by 6:15am.

Reality: After a few hours of sleep (Facebook was just too good), sleep through 2 alarms, somehow wake up at 6:02. Panic. Shove toothbrush and whatever else is in hand into backpack, run to nearest taxi. Collapse at bus station at 6:27, just in time to catch the bus to the aeropuerto.

Dearest burger, I've waited SO LONG.

All's well that ends well.

The four of us made it safely to our hostel in Dublin with not too many more issues, where the die-hard Irish manager at Ashfield House wrote all over our map with different suggestions and advice. Our first mission was to find the nearest and best burger place for dinner.
Spanish hamburguesas are not even close to the giant stacks of beef so near and dear to our American hearts. When the waitress gave us fountain coke and free ice water with our meal, the collective gasps of joy from our table could be heard around the restaurant.
We then had a lively night at a touristy pub in Temple Bar with a crowd of Norwegians, but turned in early as we had an adventure waiting for us in the morning.

Galway Tour

When traveling, my group usually tends to stay away from the organized groups.  Walking tours involve too much walking and listening, and not enough sitting and drinking.  We typically like to search for coffee and other beverages, and by doing this explore a city for ourselves.  However.  We decided to give the all-day tour of Galway, the Burren, and the Cliffs of Moher a chance.  From 7am to 9pm we bused, walked, and frolicked all over the Irish countryside.

Our friendly tour guide John kicked off the tour with a hike all over the farm and surrounding mountains that have been in his family for hundreds of years.  We were very happy that we had chosen to rest the night before, as it was one of the very few workouts I've had this semester.

The Burren.  Beautifully green, surprisingly rocky, and to the upper-right you can kiiinda see the ocean.

Pie at Granny's Cottage

Frolic Mode: ON.

 From the farm we piled back on the bus for a short drive to the Cliffs of Moher.

We were lucky to have such a clear day!

You really have to be careful on the edge of those cliffs.

With all this talk of "frolicking" and "playtime," my time studying abroad is beginning to sound like some excuse to take a semester off and explore Europe with friends.

Erin didn't acquire a taste for Guinness.

That's a myth.  I'm learning lots.

Irish Lessons Learned

- Imitating a British accent does not qualify as an Irish accent.

- Also, fake accents are really not appreciated by the public.

- Everyone is nice in Ireland.  Everyone.  

- Guinness is made of five ingredients: water, hops, barley, yeast, and Arthur Guinness himself.

- Guinness is definitely an acquired taste.  But with practice, it is possible to enjoy a pint of the strong stout.

Making friends on Local Night.

- My family name is very popular in Cork, where my ancestors are from.
- When offered, always always always take the horse and carriage ride back to your neighborhood. Worth every euro.
- The ginger population really is abnormally high.I counted 105 redheads in four days.

MEXICAN FOOD?? Never leaving.

- Talking to elderly men at bars leads to invitations to local hotspots that even locals don't know about.

- In general, Irish old men are wonderful to talk to.

- Dublin knows how to make real guacamole, and actual spicy salsa.

- Darkey Kelly's Bar is home to authentic Irish music without the crowds of tourists. I mean, except us.

...so how do I pack these?

- Mention your grandfather was a potato farmer, and someone just might give you a bag of his father's homegrown potatoes.

- The popular song "Molly Malone" is very catchy, will get stuck in your head, and is about a prostitute.

- "Be garra be jeasus!" an old Irish phrase, has a meaning.  We're just not exactly sure what it is.

- Packing potatoes home will get dirt all over your stuff.

With all the burgers, Mexican food, and potatoes, Ireland actually reminded me a lot of home.  If home had fantastic accents and lusciously green rolling hills, of course.  The weekend in my motherland was all too short, but we wanted to be back in Sevilla for the week of Feria.  Also, continuously comparing everyone to leprechauns and Keebler Elves wasn't making us any friends.  Goodbye, dear Ireland.  I shall see you again one day!