I have arrived back home! The past three months have been a blur, especially the last few weeks. I have nothing but time now so I will write a blog describing my last month and concluding the experience as a whole. Thanks to anyone still reading!

Northern Ireland

I have now had the opportunity to visit Northern Ireland twice. My first visit was through the study abroad program and was over the Halloween weekend. We spent the first night in Derry (Londonderry if you are loyalist) and thus the adventures began. The following is part of a reflective paper I had to write for history:

The tensions behind the people of Londonderry-Derry are seen immediately in the name of the city. Driving into the area, most of the signs for Londonderry were spray-painted or vandalized so only Derry was visible. History hundreds of years old is a sense of identity for both Catholics and Protestants, and in this case identity is as simple as the name of a city. The tension behind the name is not a thing of the past for the people in Derry. Talking with a college-aged friend, Christy, I had met at a pub, I realized how important names are for individual identity. Christy, having grown up in the Catholic ‘Bogside’ neighborhood refused to acknowledge the name Londonderry, and even claimed that there is no such thing as Northern Ireland, because it is one island and one Ireland. His viewpoints were developed from his experiences growing up in Derry, and were not specially packaged for our group as visitors.

The murals are a clear tourist attraction now that visitors feel safe in Northern Ireland, but the history behind them, the blood and tears that prompted them are still a part of everyday life for many people. Seeing the ‘Bloody Sunday’ mural in Derry is a moving experience that captures the chaotic murders that took place in 1972. I questioned whether this mural is a memorial to the massacre or a spot for tourists to take pictures and make a connection to the U2 song. My question was answered by John Kelly, brother of Michael Kelly, who died at the age of 17 by British gunmen. Mr. Kelly led a tour of a museum dedicated to ‘Bloody Sunday’ and gave his time to answer questions from our group. Coming from a man who had watched his brother die, it is impossible to say that the murals, bullets, letters, and other memorabilia collected in the museum were packaged for tourists. I stood where Michael Kelly was shot, and I saw where his mom witnessed the events not knowing that her son would soon be dead. The ‘Bloody Sunday’ shootings and ‘troubles’ are so ingrained in John Kelly’s life that it is clear history lives through him. The cause of Michael Kelly’s death was likewise directly influenced by 400 years of history between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland. Although peace has made leaps and bounds, the ‘troubles’ will always exist through people like John Kelly, who have been shaped by personal connections with historical events.

After Derry we spent a day at Bushmills Distillery, which is the oldest “legal” distillery of whiskey in the world. A small tasting session was followed by a trip to Giants Causeway, a geological wonder made up of hexagonal rocks that form unique formations. Both sights were great, and although a little touristy they were part of the essential “Ireland experience”.

Belfast was the next stop, and arriving at 6:00 p.m. (the dark of night over here) I could tell we were in for an interesting two nights. Belfast Youth Hostel was located close to Queens University, but closer to a Protestant stronghold called Sandy Row. Immediately across the street from the hostel was a bar sporting numerous Union Jack flags and various loyalist flags of Ulster. For those that are not familiar with the symbolism of these flags, they can be translated to “Welcome to Protestant Country- Catholics Enter At Your Own Risk”.

(Mural at Sandy Row, about a five minute walk from our first hostel. Didn't see this one until the second time around. Yikes!)

The first night our group went out to celebrate a friend’s birthday, and in my infinite wisdom I wore the Gaelic Football jersey that I had on all day. Gaelic Football is part of the Catholic tradition so much so that it probably was about as smart as wearing a confederate flag into North Minneapolis. The very first pub we went to the entire group was let in while the bouncer insisted that I either take off the jersey or move on. I took off the jersey and wore my undershirt the entire night, a small price to pay all things considered. The next day we had a group tour of the city by bus, but the tour was poorly done and tough to hear. That night was Halloween, and everyone, I mean everyone, was dressed up and hit the streets. I was a Rastafarian. The people we talked to that night were either fun and outgoing or realized we were Americans and tried to get a rise out of us by pretending to be IRA (Irish Republican Army) or UVF (Ulster Volunteer Force) members. One such young man came up from behind me and pointed his toy gun (he was a cowboy) at my knees, claimed he was with the UVF and pretended to kneecap me. I knew this guy was trying to get a rise out of me, but it like having someone in any American city mock stab and mug you. Instead of playing along, I tried to ignore him and walk away, because this was right outside our hostel, and the Union Jacks were flapping proudly. As I began to walk away, this guy grabbed my fake dreadlocks hat, which at this point seemed like the best 10-pound purchase of my life and was an integral part of my costume. He danced away wearing my dreads, and as I began to walk after him to grab the hat, two of his friends dressed in hooded sweatshirts (the only two in Belfast not dressed in a costume) came up to me and insisted that I should not mess with this guy and that my hat was a lost cause. Mess with the guy? I had just been the victim in a fake kneecapping and now was missing my Rasta cap. I tried to explain this to these two ‘hoods’ but they insisted I turn away from my friends who was now shaking his dreads and belting out a Bob Marley song. Two middle-aged men had watched the whole incident take place and came over and grabbed it from the culprit and returned it to me. Needless to say that I was out of the scene of the crime ASAP. The next day was an early departure and my Northern Ireland experience was over. Until this last weekend…

(Queens University)

First and for-most I owe a thank you to my Irish relatives, who housed, fed, drove, and entertained my two friends and me this last Wednesday and Saturday. On Wednesday my friends David, Kyle, and I left Galway, which was consequently in the midst of severe flooding, for Dublin, which is usually about a three-hour bus ride unfortunately stretched to nearly four hours due to torrential rain. From Dublin we caught an hour-long bus to Newly, the nearest city to Rostrevor, the home place of my Irish relatives John and Veronica Murray and their five children. From the moment we got there we were treated with everything from delicious food to access to their washing machine, which was badly, BADLY needed. We had a slice of home with take out pizza while we watched Ireland play France in soccer match that will inevitably go down in history as one of the most controversial games in the history of soccer. If you have not seen or heard the outcry from the Irish soccer world, google or youtube Thierry Henry’s handball and the Ireland-France soccer match. This soccer game is on the same level as the Potato Famine or 800 years of English occupation to the Irish people.

The next day my uncle drove us up to Belfast on his way to work and we listen to the outcry of Irish soccer fans calling for anything from a rematch to a ban on all French goods. It was Kyle’s birthday, and we ended up walking around the city and shopping for cheap (for once! Belfast is an escape from the disastrous prices of the Republic of Ireland) clothes and food before going out to celebrate the big 21. The hostel this time around was about five blocks closer to Queens University campus, and this made all the difference in the world. We ended up meeting groups of students each night, both Catholics and Protestants, that showed us around town and invited us to house parties afterwards. During the day we walked through the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods of the city and visited the Ulster Museum. Belfast was a totally different experience, the people were all friendly and we actually had time to explore the city. Belfast has something about it that is very likable. If Ireland is so well liked because of it’s “underdog” appeal, than Belfast is the “loveable loser” of the “underdogs”. I really enjoyed my time in the city and would still like to go back… Grad school at Queens?

After two nights adventuring Belfast, we were headed back to Rostrevor for more home cooking and creature comforts that are lost or ignored for the poor college traveler. My uncle John picked us up at the historic Crown Bar where we had a pint and watched a little Rugby, a sport I have caught on to since coming to Ireland, and headed back to Rostrevor. Rostrevor is one of my favorite Irish cities and it was great to stay with family, I feel refreshed going into the last stretch of my trip. That night after more food we headed into Rostrevor for live music and a couple pints, and although a couple songs at one pub were a little politically motivated, they were outdone by beautiful traditional music with a surprise twist of Sweet Caroline. The next day John drove us down to Dublin to catch our bus, which ended up saving us a very pretty penny. Thanks again to the Irish Murray’s, and I guess Belfast, it was a fantastic trip.

My writing is tailing off right now, as I should be working on papers and projects that have shocked me with a sudden sense of reality, especially stinging after six hours of classes just wrapped up. Not complaining, but I didn’t get to see the sun today. The next couple of weeks will be busy and I will try and update the blog, but might run out of time. I will be staying in and around Galway until the end of classes and then will travel back to Rostrevor for six more days before my departure. Many more stories to be told upon my homecoming.

Hope things are solid for friends and family back home,

Love,

JCM

(Clonard Monastery in a Catholic stronghold of West Belfast)

The craic is mighty. I just got back from two hurling games in Galway. Hurling is comparable to a gang battle in which both sides promise not to bring firearms. The clubs that are used to play the game are capable of killing, and the players have no problem swinging them aimlessly. Helmets are optional, but for some reason only about half the players wear them. There was a team of six medics that would rush on the field every five minutes and tend to a players who had been severely maimed. The game was a blast to watch, but ended up in a blowout. Blogging has become a bit of a challenge due to numerous papers weighing me down. I'll try and maybe post a couple papers for anyone who is truly bored out of their heads.

This Wednesday I will be voyaging back to Northern Ireland with two friends. We are planning on staying in Rostrevor for two nights (at the home of my Irish relatives) and Belfast for two nights. When I get back I hope to write a blog about both my North Ireland experiences. Until then, working away on papers in Ireland

John Murray

Sorry I haven't been able to relay my adventures (multiple) in North Ireland or any other updates on my life. I have been writing an essay on North Ireland so I need some time to get away from academia before I write my experience. I snuck into a Delorentos concert in Galway the other night and had an incredible time. They are a young upcoming band from Dublin and are growing fast in Ireland. They put on a fantastic show. Check out one of their songs at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vDs22k5yjo&feature=related

Before the concert I was at a Galway United soccer match. Ireland doesn't have much of a soccer league because any player with professional talent is playing in England or throughout Europe. The game was funny to watch as I was older than at least half the team and probably could have suited up and played, and honestly might have excelled. Fans from both teams brought drums that they would beat throughout the game and the opposing fans, Cork City, brought street flares that they would light and throw throughout the game. A frantic chase would ensue in which the Gaurdi (police) would try and catch fans throwing the flares. A police officer in the States would have a field day with a taser in a situation like this while the Gaurdi would dispose of the flare and wait for the next, usually about every 15 minutes. The downfall of soccer is that a game can end in a tie. Nearly every soccer game I have seen thus far has been a tie, a major source of frustration in my life (life is good). More to report once I finish up some essays.

One of many flares at the game

My North Ireland pictures are on the same slideshow as the cruise pictures. It might not pop up at first. Try clicking the green 2009 tab on the side and scroll down to the first slideshow. Good luck!

Picking up where I left off on my 10-day break cruising the Mediterranean: We missed our flight on day 10 back to Ireland. In a groupthink situation similar to the Kennedy administration’s Bay of Pigs fiasco, the eight of us on the cruise booked a 7:20 a.m. flight from Gerona airport in Barcelona because our boat was to arrive at 5:00 a.m. in the morning. What we didn’t consider was we needed to board the flight at 6:50 a.m., Gerona is roughly an hour and fifteen minutes taxi ride from Barcelona, and our boat had to go through security and we wouldn’t be let out until 6:00 a.m. To complicate and confuse matters, daylight savings set time back an hour. That morning our traveling troupe woke at 4:00 a.m. in hopeful anticipation that we would pull of a miracle. By 5:00 a.m. the boat had docked and security began their check. This was a heart-wrenching hour experience. I literally watched a group of five Spaniards security personal take place in a push-up contest followed by a jumping-jack tournament. Meanwhile I was preparing a 50-foot jump past the ship’s Nepali security guards into the Atlantic Ocean.

Needless to say we missed the flight.

We proceeded to book a flight through Easy Jet into Belfast leaving Barcelona at 7:30 p.m. This was a tough situation but we really lucked out. The flight was not too expensive, and our next best options were to pay a fortune to get into Dublin our stay in Barcelona until Wednesday, effectively missing three days of class. I tried to keep an even keel about the whole situation pretending I was competing on the Amazing Race.

I watched a transformation in our group’s attitude happen that can sum up my entire experience in Ireland thus far. The entire day was stressful until arriving at the terminal. I immediately walked to the first person I saw with an Irish passport and explained our situation and asked for advice. I ended up talking to Eugene, an older man who first gave us advice, and then consulted with the other Irish round him and called his son back home to look up information. At this point the entire terminal was huddled around us in what had become an emergency rescue situation, and he looked at the eight of us and told us if all else failed we were all welcome to spend the night at his home in Belfast. I kid you not he even told us we could crack open a bottle of whiskey.

With the help of Eugene at the Belfast airport, we managed to figure out a series of busses and taxis that would get us back to Galway. Let me tell you dear reader, this is no easy task on a Sunday night, especially because Monday was a bank holiday for some unknown reason. This ended up taking roughly eight hours, but hey, we were in Ireland. After a 3-hour ride from Dublin to Galway, we called up a cab for what should have been a fifteen-minute ride into Spiddal. This ended up taking close to an hour, as we were forced to share a cab with five heavily intoxicated people who first could not find the cab, then could not find one of their friends, then needed to stop and get food. This was on a Sunday night at 3:30 in the morning mind you, God bless the Irish. After more than 24 hours (we went through a time zone coming back to Ireland) of traveling with little to no sleep, we arrived at the Park Lodge Hotel and said good-bye to our cab mates who had broken into song at that point. Adventuring slash exploring can be taxing, but I managed to make a good time of the situation.

Forgive me for I am writing on eight days of blissful vacation followed by 30 hours of hellish travel. (I am trying to upload a slideshow of pictures to help tell my story)

I embarked on this trip last Saturday with seven fellow classmates studying abroad with me in Ireland. The first destination was Barcelona. After a long day of travel, we arrived at 11:00 p.m. and were blessed with warm weather (at night!), palm trees, sangria, Doner kabobs, a fun hostel, American and Canadian students, and the Mediterranean Sea. Barcelona was easy to get used to as all these things happened within a two-hour time frame. It was almost as if the entire city was planning a reception party for our group. The next morning we walked through Barcelona at a strenuous pace, which was to set the precedent for the rest of the trip. The best part was the Sagrada Familia Church. This church began construction in 1882 by the architect Gaudi, and is still under construction, expected to be finished in 2026. As we were walking the streets, I noticed a group of 15-foot high costumes parading down the street accompanied by screeching Spanish music. Our group followed the parade that made its way to the front of the church, where a large crowd had assembled within the hour that we had left it. The group was primarily made up of four groups, each wearing their own color. As we watched the music continued and each group began to bunch together. Slowly one member was lifted up, than another climbed up and on top of the first. This continued until each group was four people high, creating a human representation of the spires of the Sagrada Familia Church directly behind them. After that we continued to explore Barcelona and eventually made our way to the port to board the Norwegian Gem.

The cruise aspect of the trip had both pros and cons.

Pro: All you can eat food. After a month and a half of my pilgrim lifestyle, I ate. Meal after meal was a treat. Food was available 24/7. Every night our entire group would sit down at a "fancy" restaurant and get four-course meals.

Con: The entire aspect of the cruise had a very cheesy aspect about it. For example, the "fancy" restaurant was filled with fake Mahoney and ridiculous chandeliers. The other guests on the cruise (another con: most guests except for two friends we made were experiencing some degree of a midlife crisis) played along with the cheesy aspect of the cruise. They would dress extravagantly, and once a meal the chefs (all foreign) would be sent out to a rousing round of applause. The food was good not amazing, but the cruise staff hyped it up, and everyone bought it. I just ate.

Pro: Every stop we made was unbelievable (Malta, Napoli, Rome, Florence, Cannes). Travel was easy, as I would wake up after a refreshing night of sleep and be in a radically different city. This made it possible to see a variety of different things, not many people can say they have been to Malta, but I can and I loved it.

Con: We did not get to see the nightlife in any city. We would wake up early and see as much as we could see before getting back on the boat. The nightlife on the boat consisted of “cheese” city. The entire staff of the crew was foreign, mostly from Indonesia and Nepal. I have no idea why or how people from Nepal were working on this cruise, they have come along way from Mount Everest to the Mediterranean. Entertainment consisted of Indonesians (sometimes the same ones that had just served me dinner) dressing up with backwards hats or Hawaiian shirts and singing Jimmy Buffet songs or a Nepal native attempting a magic show. It was amazing to watch how the crowd would cheer at each performance. It was corporate American brainwashing at its finest. I only went to the shows the first day when there were no stops, and I was almost prepared to hurl myself into the sea afterwards. The following nights I ate, made new friends (an American guy and Australian girl), read my book and hung out with my friends on the trip. This was much better and complemented our rigorous travel that we would do each day.

Pro: I did not spend much money in any town, as the boat would provide the essentials.

Con: The boat docked in two ports that were an hour away from both Rome and Florence. We had to find our own way in each city or pay a ridiculous charge to go on cruise excursions. This cut drastically into our time, but also added an element of adventure and exploring that is supposed to be part of college traveling. I saw Rome in a day for 14 Euro and was drenched by pouring rains, and it was an absolute blast. The cruise had hidden charges for nearly everything. This is why we got such a cheap ticket. Being aware and poor travelers, we managed to go unscathed by fees. Watching some of the totally unaware tourists we were with, I must have saved hundreds if not thousands of dollars.

In hindsight I had a fantastic time because I got to see all the cities we stopped at, and I could not have accomplished this any other way besides the cruise. I wouldn't do a cruise again anytime soon, but I was able to do my own thing both on and off the ship so I had a good time.

I also learned some things about myself. I like to travel raw. I enjoy skipping comfort for experience. I love Ireland (I'll get back to that one).

Cities:

Malta was incredible. In terms of weather, color schemes, and architecture it felt like I was in Egypt. Upon docking, our group walked to the main attraction: St. John's Church. We got there and mass had just started so we had to wait two hours and come back for a tour. My friend Thomas Joyce and I asked if we could go to the mass, as it had only just started. We did and the inside of the church was beautiful. We had communion with the Maltenese and then we were back on our way to explore the city. I decided to go back and take a tour of the church, which turned out to be a fantastic decision. Malta is a country straight out of a Dan Brown Novel, as the Knights Templar founded the country. During mass, little did I know that the floor was made up of 400 marked graves of knights from 500 years ago. The rest of the city was perfect (so was the 77 degree f weather). Geckos ran circles around me as I relaxed and explored this slice of exotic paradise.

Napoli was dirty and poor, or at least were the majority of the parts of the city I saw. We walked through neighborhood areas and tried to communicate with Italians. We ended up find back alleys to breathtaking views and lush parks. Jimmy Backus, Thomas Joyce, and I found an old castle on the Mediterranean that was simple, yet one of the best parts of the trip. We were the only ones there and we climbed to the top. See pictures. (Weather: 75 degree f and sunny= perfection)

Rome was a struggle to get to and our time was short there. We ran around in the rain and managed to see most of it. I wasn't too worried because I had already seen Rome. It reminded me of the T.V. show The Amazing Race. It was fun, but I was a little disappointed that I couldn't see my friends studying abroad there, but all in all it was a blast.

Florence was another struggle to get into to, and there was a threat of a train strike. Only three of us went and it was worth the risk. The city was walkable and scenic. The best part was waiting to see the statue of David by Michelangelo. The line was ridiculous and it was going to take all day to see the statue. We decided to skip it, but walking away I was astounded, no shocked within the point of a heart attack to see my friend Leah Palermo from high school. She is studying abroad in Rome but was traveling around with her family. This meeting boggled my mind; all I can say is that it truly is a small world. We talked for some time and parted ways, as we are hopefully meeting up with some friends in Dublin in a couple of weeks. It was crazy, I loved it.

Cannes was the last stop and the nicest day. Our group explored the city and spent the majority of the day on the beach. Perfect ending of the trip... but it turned out it was not the ending at all, because a rat race ensued trying to get back to Ireland the next day. I'll save this blog for later. Hopefully the pictures will fill in what I missed. Part two of the trip entitled “My Personal Struggle through Inferno” will come soon.

I went to the Cliffs of Moher today. I had totally forgotten this trip until yesterday, a testament to how amazing studying abroad has been. For example, as Minnesotans were dodging snow flakes the last two days, I was dodging jellyfish in the Atlantic Ocean. It was 70 degrees and sunny yesterday. Today started the same way, but soon we had ascended into the clouds: literally. I still am absolutely baffled by the roads over here. The first 30 minutes of our drive today was slow and uphill and I swear I could hear that clicking noise a roller coaster makes as it climbs the first big hill. It really does feel like a roller coaster because the road is no wider than the track of the Wild Thing. As soon as our bus hit the clouds, we blindly made a dramatic drop that was complemented with twists and turns until we were 700 feet above the ocean at the Cliffs of Moher. The clouds began to lift and the cliffs were incredible, with a special mysticism added due to the wisps of clouds, nay ghosts, flying down to the ocean. The Cliffs of Moher: It's a long way down or I survived the Cliffs of Moher are my two entrepreneurial t-shirt ideas. Another good day in Ireland.

Tomorrow is start of the 10 day midterm break. I will accompany seven fellow students from this program on a cruise on the Mediterranean. It sounds great, all I know is that there are seven restaurants on the boat I can eat ate for free and I will take warm showers. I will be taking a break from my pilgrimage and return to an American lifestyle. We were able to smooth-talk our way into a relatively cheap deal and it is an American company so we payed in dollars, not Euros, which makes a HUGE difference. I know people that are backpacking and staying at hostels that have already spent more money on their trips than the cruise. I fly out of Dublin on Saturday to Barcelona, were I will spend one night in a hostel and than board the Norwegian Gem at 5 in the morning on Sunday. This is my next week:

Itinerary

Day	Port	Arrive	Depart
Sun	Barcelona	-	7:00 PM
Mon	At Sea	-	-
Tue	Valletta (Malta)	8:00 AM	3:00 PM
Wed	Naples	8:00 AM	7:00 PM
Thu	Rome (Civitavecchia)	7:00 AM	7:00 PM
Fri	Florence/Pisa (Livorno)	7:00 AM	7:00 PM
Sat	Cannes	7:00 AM	3:00 PM
Sun	Barcelona	5:00 AM	-

I'll be off the computer until I return but I will update any followers I still have after my voyages.

Sailing new seas everyday,

John Murray

Class schedule:
Monday- 10 a.m. to 1 a.m. - Irish History
- 2 p.m. to 5 p.m- Irish Catholicism

Tuesday- 9 a.m to 10:30 a.m. - Study Abroad Seminar

Wednesday- 10:00 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. - Irish Literature

Thursday - 9 a.m. to 10:30 a.m.- Study Abroad Seminar

In Irish history we are currently discussing the Great Famine, or more accurately, the Great Hunger. It was no famine because as the Irish were starving to death boats overflowing with wheat and grains were leaving Irish ports daily for England. The professor in this class, Lawerence Marely from Belfast, covers hundreds of years of history in each three hour class and doesn't miss a beat. I have learned the most from this class and am able to make connections with every place we visit because of the historical background I have obtained.

Irish Catholicism is taught by an incredibly friendly old woman named Mary Clancy. Her goal is to give us as much information on the places we are going to so we can maximize our travels. She even spent the last class discussing points of interest in Europe in case we would visit them during our ten day break that starts this Friday. Unfortunately, I have learned very little about Catholicism except that it is dying in Ireland at a rapid pace. More to come on that later.

Study Abroad Seminar is taught by the professor from Saint John's, Julie Davis, and is focused on integrating experiences on excursions with a deeper understanding of Ireland primarily through writing and group discussions. This week I will start reading the book The Belfast Diaries in preparation for a trip in two weeks to Derry and Belfast in Northern Ireland.

Irish Literature is my favorite class, hands down. So far we have read in depth the works of W.B. Yeats and Frank O'Conner, and both have been fascinating. The class is discussion based but the professor Gerard O'Brien is another fascinating man that always has a new perspective or experience to add. Right now we are reading the play The Playboy of the Western World by John M. Synge. I have a part and we will finish the last act tomorrow morning. I look forward to this class.

Ten day break this Friday and I'm going on a cruise! More to come on that before I depart.

(My front yard)

Life at Park Lodge Hotel, Spiddal, Ireland:

The Park Lodge Hotel is in the middle of no where. It is 12 miles outside of Galway, hugging the coast and entrapped by rolling hills and small farms. Spiddal the town is 2 miles away and sits on top of a sandy beach, a stereotypical town made up of a church (mass is said in gaelic, not english), a butcher, a grocery store, and four pubs. The area we are in is beautiful. The ocean is a 5 minute walk and I make it daily to watch the tide change or the stars appear. Tonight the stars are out and the waves are calmly lapping against the rocky shore. As I walk back from the ocean, I cross the deadly two-lane street, thanks be to God there are no cars zooming around the corner tonight, and immediately see the front of the Park Lodge Hotel.

(Side View of Park Lodge Hotel... the pub is the glass rotunda on the left, wedding hall in the middle, class room on the far right, and hotel rooms on the second floor)

The Park Lodge Hotel is run by the Foyle family, with three of the seven Foyle siblings living and working here full time. The hotel consists of a large reception area perfect for the weddings that are held nearly every weekend here, or the weekly Wednesday Spiddal Yoga class led by Jimmy Fitzgerald. Turning the corner I see a group of students checking emails in the computer lounge (two computers, a flat screen T.V., and a couch). The classroom which I am in every Monday through Thursday is full of students using the wireless internet to Skype or finish homework. I'm still looking at the stars somehow defy the clouds while walking around the side, as the six cottages that the students live in and the director's cottage are tucked around the back of the Hotel, and I say hello to a fellow student walking to the lounge with their computer going to blog.

(My Cottage, front view)

I cross the parking lot that is in the back and make my way to my cottage, a stone's throw from the the main building. I chuckle a bit looking at the playground on the other side of the parking lot, seeing the basketball hoop set at eight and a half feet surrounded by a six foot area of cement, for those that don't know basketball thats less than half of the way to the free throw line. I walk into my cottage and think about taking a hot shower before bed, but decide not to because I haven't taken a hot shower at the cottages yet. The cottages are run on an energy machine powered by 2 Euro coins, and any leftovers of the 14 Euro weekly energy allowance is saved is split between the group. I'm used to cold showers, so I heat up some Tesco Ravioli in the microwave (valued at 35 cents) and hit the hay in preparation for the next day of classes...

Phoenix Park, Dublin. Site where Pope John Paul the Second visited 30 years ago. More than a million people gathered in the park, calling it the "best rock concert" Ireland has ever had.

Back from Dublin... and no stories to tell. The weekend excursion was fun, but was nothing more then spending time in a big city. I'm almost certain I haven't seen an Irish person in three days, and I just got out of the capital city with more than a fourth of Ireland's population. Lots of Gypsy's and bad Borat impressions will be my memories from the trip.

Our hostel was located right next to the Temple Bar area, which is notorious for "hen" and "stag" parties, the American equivalent being the bachelor party. To add to the mayhem, Ireland played Italy in Dublin for the World Cup Qualifiers on Saturday night. I would have considered buying tickets for the game (50 Euro for the nosebleeds or 70 American dollars) but our program had pre-purchased tickets to a play at the Abbey Theater. The Abbey Theater was developed by Irish intellects such as W.B. Yeats to promote the arts and Irish artists, and boy o boy did we see a piece of art. If anyone ever has a chance to see "The New Electric Ballroom", know that it has my approval. The play was actually in the Peacock Theater, directly below the Abbey Theater and it was absolutely bizarre. I made no sense of it and neither did anyone in the group. At one point a male private area (penis) was flashed and at another point a women wet herself on stage. As I looked around the small theater of 100 seats and saw all my fellow students grimacing in shock or horror, I laughed. And laughed. And continued to laugh for the remainder of the play. I wish my brother Joe could have been there for it, he truly would have gone bananas and probably would have been forcibly removed.

Prices in Dublin are unreal. 3.80 Euro ($5) is the price of any pint in Galway or anywhere else we have been thus far in Ireland. The cheapest pint in Dublin was 5.50 Euro ($9). I didn't get a pint... poor little me.

I did a lot of walking around Dublin, James Joyce style. People watching was crazy and I did see some sights, but the overall city is just a city. Nothing really separates it from New York or Minneapolis/St. Paul and there is no Irish feel to Dublin. Originally a Viking city, then the headquarters for 800 years of British rule, Dublin lacks the Irish spirit that fuels the craic (good times) on the west coast. I've also come to realize I'm not much of a city boy.

We did make a trip out to the Newgrange, a prehistoric pagan temple/tomb, which I was unable to do on my last trip to Ireland. It poured rain for the first time since we have been in Ireland. My favorite part of it was there was some farmer in working in his tractor about 100 yards from this 5,000 year old monument.

It was a fun trip, but really made me understand how magical the rest of the trip has been. I guess I was due for a mediocre blog or people would stop believing what I've been saying. I have also realized there is something about the Irish people, not the landscape, museums, tourist traps, and cities, that really makes this place special. I volunteered my afternoon Wednesday helping J.P. Foyle, one of the siblings that owns the Park Lodge Hotel, and was rewarded by eating a delicious home cooked meal of lamb and potatoes while sharing a bottle of wine with him. This was a better experience than Dublin.

Tomorrow I will try to blog about day-to-day life and classes here in Spiddal, Ireland.

Voyaging onwards,

John Murray

Before you start to read click the green October tab on the right, then you will be able to see the pictures that I put up. There should be seven or so at the bottom. It's 9 p.m. here and I'm going to bed. Everyone is waking up at 2 in the morning to watch the Viking-Packer game. I'm going to be behind on sleep but might have to do it two nights in a row to watch my beloved twins.

Tink I be goin to my wee bed now, night all!

County Kerry was a beautiful weekend excursion.

Note: I will try and post a basic summary of classes and daily life soon, but one more adventure.

On Thursday morning we departed at 8:00 a.m. trying to make it near Limerick to take a 10:30 ferry across the river Shannon. In the United States this would be a 45-minute drive, maybe hop on a couple of highways or interstates and arrive with time to spare. In Ireland we sat in traffic on the major road through Galway roughly the size of my driveway, finally arriving at the highway no bigger than any neighborhood street in Shoreview. We made it to the boat at 10:30 so needless to say we were about 15 minutes early as one must always take into account that Irish time is a thing onto itself. We drove the bus on the ferry and crossed the river, about a 20-minute boat ride. Another difference between Ireland and the US is the advent of bridges. Galway only has two small bridges going over the river Corrib, which cuts the city in half and apparently our group would have had to go about two hours out of the way to get to a bridge crossing the Shannon. When we were on the ferry, an announcement stated that the crew would be practicing the emergency response procedure. This consisted of throwing a large yellow dummy over the side of the boat. I watched in shock from the second level of the boat, as we were able to get off the bus and walk around, as the yellow dummy floated away from the boat. This was scary to me noting that the crew expected any passenger overboard to simply float, as I would sink like a rock to the bottom. Once the dummy was floating lifelessly 100 yards away, the boat was put in reverse and continued until the dummy was right at the edge of the boat. Then they dropped the back ramp that all the cars had entered on and the two “emergency rescue” men walked out on the ramp and picked up the dummy with a five-foot pole with a hook on it. The held up the dummy triumphantly as the entire boat cheered; while I shivered knowing any human being that fell off the boat would certainly perish.

The bus ride continued to Tralee and around the Ring of Kerry. It is an incredibly scenic, rugged, mountainous, historical, and religious area, but loses some of it’s effect when it is viewed from a bus window or through ten minute bathroom breaks. Every town and house had a green and yellow flag celebrating Kerry’s win in the All-Ireland Gaelic Football final, an event that transcends athletics and is a deep source of pride for the people of the area. Stops were made at Tralee and Gallerus Oratory, the oldest of the remaining “beehive” huts that housed hermit monks and nuns up to 1500 years ago. To be honest I found both the city of Tralee and Gallerus Oratory to be underwhelming, even a bit cheesy. We trekked on to Portmagee and arrived at 6:30-7:00 p.m.

Arriving at Portmagee was a bit of a shock. There were two pubs in the city. It’s not stretching truth to say that you can multiple the pubs in a city by 50 and roughly find the population. There were two pubs in Portmagee. To add to this, we were to stay here for two nights. The hostel was the nicest one I’ve been to yet, but walking into town I realized the only place to get groceries in the city was the post office. I repeat, there were only two pubs in this town. Back at the hostel my friend Thomas Joyce started talking to a couple of Italians, asking why on earth they had come to stay in Portmagee. It turns out that they had traveled to Ireland for one reason and were going to see only one thing in the country: Skellig Michael. They described it has an off-the-beaten-track mountainous island, which for hundreds of years monks had traveled about 15 miles across the Atlantic Ocean to live in hermitage and isolation in the most remote part of Ireland. The ruins of the monk’s buildings still remain and are surrounded by breathtaking natural formations and rare birds. They warned that not many people voyaged out and that an American woman had fallen to her death only two weeks ago. I feel bad saying this but that only increased our desire to make the trip. It was a 40 Euro trip, which included an hour ride there, and an hour ride back and two hours to get off and explore the island. The reason our group had come to Portmagee was to have a photography workshop with our program director’s Norwegian cousin who is a professional photographer. I went to bed disappointed and hungry.

The next morning I arose and went to the Portmagee community center for the workshop. This workshop is something that I might have found interesting back in the States on a rainy day, but we were in Ireland and the sun was shinning. I spent the morning wondering how basketball would be different if it was played on an Irish court, usually about half the size of a normal basketball court with one basket placed at 8 feet and one at 11 feet. I think it would be a fun modification. We broke for lunch at the local restaurant, and had lunch paid for with the program money. It was absolutely delicious. This was my first fish and chips meal and was the best and freshest food I’ve had since being in Ireland.

The second half of the day was walking around practicing taking pictures. While walking around snapping artsy pics usually of a rock or a boat or me without a shirt by a boat, a flustered Italian man approached me and asked in broken English if I could help him. I was finally able to figure out what he was saying mostly through his exaggerated hand motions that only Italians can pull off. Anyways, he had come with his wife planning to see Skellig Michael but needed a couple more people in order for the captain to take out a boat. Our group of 28 students was the only other tourists in the town at this point, which really says how remote Skellig Michael is in terms of tourism. The Italian had a look of desperation in his eyes and hands and told me that he had talked the captain into only paying 30 Euro as opposed to the regular price of 40 Euro. At this point, a group of students had formed around me and we told him we would ask our director, but still were a little turned off by paying 30 Euro. The Italian insisted that we must leave within 15 minutes for the captain to take us because it was already early in the afternoon at this point. We asked our professor if we could skip the second half of the photography workshop and go to Skellig Michael. The boat could only take 12 people and the Italians already took two spots, so people were going to be left out on the trip; however, our professor gave us her permission. Meanwhile, the desperate Italian had talked the captain down to only 20 Euro, apparently this was the last boat ride he was going to take out until next summer. The stars were aligning.

A group of seven students and the two Italians ended up making the trip. Many people missed out and were off taking artsy pictures somewhere, which is a shame but part of the catch was we really did have to leave within 15 minutes of this offer. We walked down to the boat and I was shocked to see a small fishing boat with a poster covering one window with a poster of Bart Simpson saying “Eat My Shorts”. Sometime when I have more time, I would like to blog about the sense of illegitimacy that I have seen in many different aspects of Irish culture and business that reminds me very much of Africa. I was half surprised when our Captain Michael greeted us because he wasn’t wearing an old, donated Minnesota Timberwolves shirt but was not surprised that he was missing numerous teeth.

The trip out was gorgeous but rocky. We were on the ocean and the waves do rock back and forth, often feeling more like flipping over the boat than gentle rocking. I had no idea such scenic islands and cliffs and underwater caves were so close to Portmagee. I even began to enjoy myself. At one point Michael had to go get something so he asked my friend Thomas Joyce to take the wheel. We were out on the Atlantic Ocean and Thomas was navigating us over three-foot waves. I got a little seasick. Soon we were able to see Skellig Michael and the other Skellig next to it called Little Skellig. Little Skellig is much smaller and it is impossible for humans to land on, so it has become a sanctuary to over 17,000 birds. I’ve never seen anything like it. What looked like a white mountain top from miles out was really an immense collection of the sea birds. To put it in perspective, when we floated around the island, it even smelt like birds. We got to Skellig Michael and were able to get out and walk around, but what we didn’t know until that moment was that we were going to be the only people on the island! I’m talking no other tourists, no gift shops, no security, no mountain rescue, this was our island. Michael the captain dropped us off and told us to be careful and take our time. He then floated off and went fishing for Mackerel.

Walking, who am I kidding; climbing up Skellig Michael was surreal. First there were complete blue skies over the mountain surrounded by rain clouds a mile away in all directions. Second the water was unbelievable. We had only started climbing and looked down to see 20 feet to the bottom of the dark blue-green water. I could sit here and use ridiculous adjectives to describe how perfect it was but will simply say that I felt like I was on the set of the movie Jurassic Park. It was lush and mountainous and empty and foreign, yet beautiful just like Jurassic Park. There was even an empty helicopter pad. The walk was dangerous (like all my hikes in Ireland so far) but worth every terrifying moment. On the top of the mountain, there was a small village of the beehive huts directly overlooking a steep drop into the ocean; this was much better than the one beehive hut we saw on flat ground a group. We walked around and I kept an eye out for veloci-raptors and t-rexes. Once again the view was unreal, and I’m going to let my pictures do the rest of the talking.

On the boat ride back, Michael offered us some fresh Mackerel that he had literally just caught. He needed to cut it up for us so we offered to drive the boat. Visual evidence exists that I drove a boat on the Atlantic Ocean so I’m not making anything up. As we got closer to Portmagee a rainbow formed directly over the town, meanwhile Skellig Michael was engulfed in a storm. All and all, chalk up another one for magical experiences. This one cost me 20 Euro and I will never forget it. Also note my perspective of Portmagee was completely turned around, honestly this might have been the best stop yet.

We got back ate fresh fish, which was delicious and went to one of the pubs and step danced all night with locals. The next day we went to Killarney and stayed at a hostel that was full of Irish students. It was a blast and I made some new friends. We even went clubbing, which is totally not my style but it was a blast. Life is good and I will try to blog soon about everyday life and classes, maybe just something that is not a life-changing experience.

Stayin’ golden

John Murray

"Emergency Rescue Crew" saving body in Shannon River.

Walking up Skellig Michael.

View from top of Skellig Michael looking at "Little Skellig". Each on of those white dots is a bird, there are 17,000 of them on the island.

Captain Michael cutting up fresh Mackerel. Meanwhile a Johnnie or Bennie is driving the boat

Rainbow in the background directly over the city of Portmagee.

Captain Michael in the foreground of Skellig Michael

New Italian friend tying his shoe on the way up

Beehive monasteries on top of Skellig Michael

and yours truly driving a boat on the rough Atlantic Ocean

Two Popes and JFK... Yup I'm in Ireland

Last Saturday I climbed Croagh Patrick Mountain, on our County Mayo excursion in the west of Ireland. This was an experience that I will never forget, because it truly was a cleansing, meditative, spiritual pilgrimage, that I remember every 20 seconds when I either sniffle my nose or cough. Our group woke up in at 8:00 a.m. in the morning in the nearby town of Westport, a beautiful little city that is the defending champion of the “small town contest” held annually in the Republic of Ireland. Croagh Patrick loomed in the immediate landscape as we woke up and ate free bread at the hostel, trying to stuff some sort of energy into our malnourished diet. This isn’t to say that I’ve been starving myself, but rather I was eating while looking at a massive mountain that I couldn’t even see the summit, as half the mountain ascended into the clouds.

Our group arrived at 8:30 and were the only people at the mountain, which was a blessing because this climb was one thing that I wanted to do by myself and make it my own experience. The climb up is once again nothing that one would experience back in the States. The trail is very steep and is made up of a series of loose rocks. For every two steps forward, one can expect to slide at least one foot back by getting caught up in a small avalanche of rocks. Just this week a 70 year old women fell towards to the summit and had to be airlifted to a hospital, and apparently this is not an unusual mishap at all. I guess this is why it is still called a pilgramage and not a hiking trail.

For those that are not familiar with this mountain, it is a famous pilgrimage because St. Patrick “apparently” climbed it multiple times, “supposedly” spending the entire lent season in fast at the summit. I use the words “apparently” and “supposedly” because I just finished reading in my history textbook that if St. Patrick did everything that is recorded, he would have lived to be at least 450 years old. Regardless there is something very spiritual about the mountain, as if each person leaves part of their intentions or prayers with the mountain and this has accumulated over the last 1500 years to make it holy (I still have faith that St. Patrick climbed it also). Friends and family reading this know that I have prayed for all of you so in a sense you all are connected to this mountain.

(Statue of St. Patrick at the start of the climb with Croagh Patrick over his shoulder)

About half way up the mountain, I could see for miles, but only another 100 yards further and I continued the rest of the climb through a cloud. The wind picks up and blows at an incredible speed, plastering the moisture of the cloud to every hiker’s clothes and body, which feels great at the time but not so much the next day. The hike turns very steep at the end and forces one to use hands and feet, especially because each rock is loose and slippery. I reached the top and was blasted by wind. I couldn’t see more than 15 feet off of the mountain so there was no real view, but the sleet blowing at such a speed over the small chapel and rock formations on the summit into a total abyss thousands of feet from the ground is beautiful in its own way. I met some Irish natives on the top, one that was trying to make the climb 100 times before he turned 70 years old. He was about 65 and said he was going to have to make the climb once more again that day, which is incredibly impressive. These Irish said an Our Father with most of our group that had reached the summit. This was a perfect finish to the whole experience, about 25 people holding hands in prayer at the top of this mountain as if this was the one way that we wouldn’t be blown away.

The climb down was scarier than they way up. It was almost as if each rock was a surf board and I just had to find the right one and ride it a couple of feet before jumping to another sliding rock. The way down I ran into hundreds of people of all ages, nationalities, sexes, and thought to myself a helicopter rescue was definitely in order for the day. There was even a family gasping for air just feet from the car park. I think they were fellow Americans.

This experience was something that I was looking forward to coming into this trip, and it surpassed all my expectations and hopes. As for my cold… I guess I’m a tea drinker now.

Love from Ireland,

John Murray

Arthur day was a blast. I've really grown to love the city of Galway. It is one of the most compact yet vibrant cities that I've ever been to and because it is a port city it reminds me a bit of Duluth. A Duluth that is populated by college students and immigrants. The city has a very young feel that makes it lively and often rowdy. To my surprise, Galway has a large African-Irish(?) population. There is a large community of refugees from Rwanda that really never assimilated into the Irish culture, but seem to have found a home with the college students who only have the black of Guinness on their minds. Last week I checked out at Tesco, which is something in between a grocery store and soup kitchen, between a woman wearing a Sari and a woman wearing a Burka. The man that checked us out was Polish. There is a definite sense of racism that can be seen and felt here in Ireland, especially because of the state of the Irish economy, which is God-awful at best leaving many Irish who flourished five years ago utterly broke. Just a couple of more tangents before I get back to Arthur's day.

The economy is totally shot. The exchange rate sucks. Our bus drove by a McDonald’s today and they were advertising the double cheeseburger moving to the new special 2 Euro menu. In America, any fast food fiend knows that the double cheeseburger is on the special 1 dollar menu. Calculate the exchange rate and you will realize you would be paying three times the American cost of the double cheeseburger if you bought it in Ireland. Now I didn't come over here to go to McDonald’s, but you are lucky if you can even find that rate. Guinness in a pub is 3.80 Euro. A 15-minute cab ride into Galway is 5 Euro each way. A plain Nike sweatshirt is 70 Euro. 30 Euro cents to use the bathroom anywhere besides the pubs. There are some ways to beat the system. Dunnes is a great clothing store comparable Target. I bought a decent looking, warm winter jacket the other day for 15 Euro. Tesco is an incredibly (and suspiciously) cheep grocery store, proof being that I was able to buy a full weeks worth of groceries for 17 Euro. Moral of the story the economy is an absolute nightmare but I'll survive.

To give a precursor to Arthur's day, drinking is a much bigger problem than I remember from my last trip here and even blows away the any Irish stereotype one might hold back in the States. I don't know if it is the recession or life as usual, but every town we have gone to seems like a drunken college campus, except the drunken college students are everyone over the age of 16 (the legal drinking age is 18). Men, women, young adults, elderly, stumble the streets singing songs, urinating in public, passing out all the time sporting an open container in public. To their credit, there is something about the Irish drunk that’s different from anyone you would see back in the states:

1. They are very friendly. We have seen no signs of fights and I don't even know what could start one. Their sense of humor is overpowering so they turn everything into a joke. I am constantly making fun of their accent, and they think it is the funniest thing in the world. The tough guy is not valued at all over here as the funny guy reins king.

2. They are drinkers by night but active members of community by day. I have recognized many faces from pubs in suits or at jobs the next day.

3. While drinking in pubs they love, in this order: pints, live music, conversation, pints, more conversion, pints, pints, pints, conversation, pints, talking with complete strangers anywhere in a 10 foot radius, pints, singing along with the live music, pints, pints, buying some of their new friends pints (complete strangers anywhere in a 10 foot radius), dancing, and finally leaving at closing time singing and dancing to the last song that was played as if it is never to be finished.

I watched the all Ireland Gaelic football game last Sunday at the local pub. This game is the equivalent of the American Super Bowl. The game was fun to watch and the underdog, Kerry, ended up winning. I now tell everyone I meet that I'm a Kerry man and they are quick to congratulate me and then tell me Kerry didn't deserve to win at all.

Back to where I started, Arthur's day. Arthur's day was a blast; every pub in town was packed. The atmosphere was the exact same as New Year's Eve, with 17:59 p.m. being midnight. The number is the year in which Guinness beer first became the pride and joy of the Irish people. Guinness in every pub was 2.50 Euro, symbolizing the 250th birthday of Guinness. The whole day was full of complicated symbolism that no one really understood. It was a holiday for cheep beer and nothing more. There was music and nearly every pub and we stopped all over town and soaked up the atmosphere. We ended up at the King's Head, the most famous pub in Galway. There was a cool live band, but for some reason Guinness was having a Guitar Hero competition in the back corner. Teams of three were needed so I got some friends and we rocked out. I am horrible at this game. As a matter of fact, I'm certain my St. Odilia parish priest could beat me because he often brings it up in homilies. After two hours of people competing my team ended up in second place. We all got free drinks from Guinness for the rest of the night so it wasn't a bad deal at all. Sad to think there won’t be another celebration like that for 250 years.