Leaving and Arriving. 4 Days. 4 Places.

Friday was the day. The last day. The day to leave Donegal. A late night with friends meant that I slept in later than I had planned. There was a part of me that didn’t want to leave the comfort of Dunfanaghy. Despite the small-town aspect that can feel a bit mundane, I like it there. Some part wanted me to miss the bus and resort to taking the very last option the next morning. The other part of me was ready to go, excited and nervous at the same time – I just had to get the first step rolling to get out of there.  I was extremely impressed with myself that I had managed to narrow my clothes down to fit into my backpack but when the time came to pick it up I nearly tumbled over: it was heavier than I had expected.  As my internal dread of over-packing slowly rose throughout my body and rushed to my head, I desperately took out a pair of sneakers and some shampoo & conditioner – like, really, those are so heavy. There was really nothing I could do, so I jumped on the 16:10 bus and was outta there. Until next time, Dunfanaghy.

 

The bus brought me to Dublin to spend the night with Hugh. It was Friday the 13^th so naturally we watched various versions of the scary movie – recent one filled with bimbos and the older ones with fantastic 80’s outfits and hair do’s. We laughed. We jumped in our seats. We looked away. We pretended not to be scared. We ate quality Chinese food – of course with chips instead of rice – it’s just the way it is in Ireland. Potato. Potato.

I'm waiting to hear you're on your way over here, Hugh. 

I was one step, one day closer. 

Next, Dublin to London. From Heathrow I transferred to Gatwick to meet up with Arina arriving from Holland. Throughout the winter I tried to convince her to come to Ireland for a visit but with a new home and a new job it was a bit difficult. Luckily and ever so gratefully, she came to meet me in London for my last night.  It’s amazing how you can not see someone for a couple months, years even, and then get back together and instantly time disappears and it feels as though you never left each other.  With our fantastic directional skills, we managed to find Ottolenghi – a chef’s restaurant who’s cookbooks I have written a lot about here, his recipes pretty much filled our three days of Christmas.  Right in between our birthdays, it was a perfect setting to celebrate with a glass of prosecco, a bottle of Italian wine, lots of laughs, and small plates and stories to share. As I had made the reservation online, there was a box option for comments where I wrote my usual “Allergic to nuts and swimming fish (shellfish is ok)” so the waiter, after some glances from the kitchen and discussions with the other staff, came over to our table with a paper menu scribbled over with X’s and checks, ingredients crossed out to show me what I could order off of. Pretty impressive restaurant attention.  We were the second to last table to leave the restaurant.  

 Great last night.

The next day, my last day in Europe was spent wandering the Brixton Village markets, eating – apparently – the best pizza in London, wandering the streets of Oxford Circus, Picadilly and Leister Square, eating at Jamie Oliver’s Italian Restaurant, walking down Kensington Church Street to see our old house on Cambridge Place, and having one last coffee on Glouster Road before we parted ways on the tube.  Arina’s enthusiastic bright smile and her supportive, generous hugs gave me the courage I needed to take a deep breath and keep going.

 Prior to flying, Singapore Airlines gives you an option to check out your meal options. Pretty impressive. And pretty tasty.

They also give you your own TV, an iPhone charger, Givenchy socks and a toothbrush, and pretty nice blanket and pillow.

2 hours into the 13 hour flight, right after I had taken half a sleeping pill, the loud speaker came on announcing the presence of a doctor to be made. Oh man, I thought, but she was ok.  And neither did I have to worry about disembarking as a drugged sleeping zombie as I slept for maybe an hour, maybe two, the entire flight. Instead I watched Drive, Moneyball, The Whistleblower, and What’s your Number?

Finally we landed in summer-toasted Singapore and I began stripping off the tremendous amount of layers of summer clothes I had piled on to keep me warm the last couple days in winter-coated Dublin and London. I don’t think I can begin to tell you how excited I was about my 13 hour layover in the Singapore airport.  It may have been the cheapest flight option, but as I looked into it, there was part of me that secretly wished I had stayed a bit longer. It makes sense as it is such an international layover stop to have such amenities for weary travelers. A swimming pool, movie theatre, world-class shopping, restaurants, spa services, hourly hotel rates, free tours into the city, feet-eating fish, shower facilities....it sounded great! And it did feel more like a mall than an airport. I was disappointed to find out that I had missed the free tours of the city as I had arrived at 6pm but then as I looked around and saw signs for public transportation I thought why not take myself in? It was nighttime, I was by myself, and I had absolutely no sense of bearings for Singapore. I couldn’t think of a visual image I had seen of it before nor could I think of any major tourists sites. I didn’t know if it was a safe city or where to go.  I dropped my shoulder bag off at the excess baggage desk and asked the guy what he thought. He said it was the start of Chinese New Years, explaining that it would be busy in town and naming some places to go for some bars and nightclubs. I smiled, replying that my flight was at 7:55am the next morning I didn’t think I would be going to any nightclubs or bars by myself in a strange city. As I walked out towards immigration, I asked for a second opinion to see if it was worth it to go into the city for a couple hours before the last train and if I just needed my boarding pass and passport to get back in. The lady at the immigration desk also mentioned Chinese New Year and started at my wool sweater saying I would be extremely hot wearing that outside. On my way to find some Singapore dollars for the train, I passed the tourist center and the woman there not only gave me a map of the city and the subway, but circled and walked me through all the different spots I could visit within the length of time I had. It was exactly what I needed.  Rather pleased with my adventure, I probably still looked like I was lost as I was the only Caucasian on the train – no one wanted to sit next to me.

awkward traveling alone.

 I got out where I was told and immediately the hot summer night air hit me, and almost as effect, knocked my head upwards as I felt tiny amongst the huge, brightly lit skyscrapers. It was really quite beautiful. I walked around the path around the river that was lined with restaurants and people enjoying eating an array of Indian, Asian and seafood restaurants. I remember walking around, enjoying the night on my own, and thinking how glad I was that I dared to venture out. It gave me a bit more of the confidence I needed to travel alone.

 I got a little lost on my way to Chinatown, feeling a little directionally challenged, but when I found it, wondered how I could ever not find it. The streets were lit up with bright lights and Chinese lanterns covering the car-less roads. On either side of the streets the stores opened up with tables and displays selling trinkets for Chinese New Years, chopsticks, candies, dried mushrooms, glass dragons, fans, iPhone accessories, wild Malaysian fruits, lanterns, dried meats of whoknowswhat and little vendors selling all types of Chinese food like a little Chinese mall’s food court. It was so hot and sweaty maneuvering between the hoards of people I eventually sat down to a cold Tiger beer and chatted with an English guy who owns a bar in Crete and travels for the 6 months of the year doesn’t work. Rough.

 Back on the train, I arrived at the airport with another 7 hours to go.  I wandered, chugged coffee, took a shower, and then sat, heavy-eyed at the gate. Another 5 hour plane ride to Perth, I thought for sure I would sleep no problem. Nope. I was restless. As I followed the flight map on the television screen in front of me, the plane slowly crossing the Indian Ocean, completely surrounded by water, all I could think of was how many sharks there must be in the deep water below us. I’m pretty sure it was the first time the pilot had ever landed a plane. It was awful. I thought for sure I wouldn’t even make it to the ground. We did. Then we arrived and he announced it was 36 degrees Celsius, which is 6 degrees Fahrenheit. What? I was sweating as we stood in line at immigration. Not only for the heat, but what if I wasn’t allowed in?  The guy took my passport, looked at the numbers, looked at them again, asked me if the passport was issued in Ireland and I said no America and he goes hmm I don’t see in here (computer system). Ohmygod. Then he handed me my passport and I was all set to go through.

 All Sharks.

First sight of Australia. 

AHHH HELLO AUSTRALIA!! I made it. 

And...

As hard as it is to leave this place, I am ready! 

Goodbye 2011, Hello 2012.

The end of 2011 ended with an entire month in Ireland (ok, 3 days in Northern Ireland). The start of 2012 started in Ireland. 2012 may or may not be the end of the world. That saying, 2012 may or may not be a good idea to go half way around the world.

Mum arrived 3 days after me. Dad and Jess arrived the Friday before Christmas. We celebrated Christmas Eve, Christmas Day on Sunday, charades & games, Christmas again on Tuesday with the cousins, holiday cocktail party, trivia night, 80's/90's night at Roonies, New Years Eve, my Birthday, New Years Dip, birthday dinner.

28. Let's not talk about it.

Now everyone is gone.

Three days later - weather permitting- I finally decide to leave the house. For over an hour and a half the sun graciously shone, not a spit of rain or hail stone descended from the January sky while I was outside. The wind, however, was as persistant as ever. In terms of getting some excercise, this means: run in one direction, powerwalk the other way back. The blowing sand stuck to my black yoga pants and Northface pullover, my un-straightened hair tangled in the wind, and my lungs embraced the crisp ocean air. Over the sand dunes, the golfers persevered and I wondered how they could muster up the strength to hit the tiny white ball into the forceful gale winds. It seemed utterly useless to me. But I turned around and looked out upon the thrashing waves breaking the sea, and thought, Killahoey sure does heal the soul. The wind is so loud that it creates a rushing silence so that you cannot focus on anything else, barely hearing your own thoughts. The only thing I could think (despite as many life-changing, world-realization type thoughts you think could be had) was how lucky I was and how special this place was. As I faced the oncoming winds heading home, I wondered if my kids (don't laugh Jess) would ever get to experience Dunfanaghy as it is or what it would be like in a few years. I wondered if I'd ever be able to express what this place means to me, to my family. Regardless of where we leave to, the rhythem of the ocean's waves will continue to constantly play their mesmerizing melody against the sand, still going on and on, minding it's own business, until we come back again. 

 As of today, there are 12 days until I arrive in Perth Australia, 11 days till I spend thirteen hours in the Singapore airport, 10 days until my flight takes off, 9 days until I'm in London and get to see Arina, which means 8 more full days here in Ireland. I miss my family tremendously. Even though they seem far away in America, my heart tightens when I think how much further away they will be, how far I will be halfway across the world. Literally.

Then I think about how much food is left here that I have to eat before I leave! I am not a waster of food. Which is a bad thing, because despite the hour and forty minutes I spent outside today, the only thing I have consumed are 2 cups of coffee, a couple vitamins, and some accompaning glasses of water. The amount of cheese in our fridge, my goodness you'd think I'd be the happiest person to be left with that much, but it is Beach Weather in Australia. The amount of cheese we've eaten here this past month would probably turn anyone vegan as an excuse for a cheese-detox. I LOVE CHEESE.

So as much as I miss my family, I have appreciated the two week detox. As much as I wish the wind didn't damage the Sky box, I read an entire 347 page book in one day. As much as I love this place, I can't wait for summertime in Australia!!

My. So. Called. Real. Life.

So, "wedding season," or so coined for this summer, is officially over. Well, at least the first wave of weddings - I've heard they go in waves. This summer was packed with showers, festivities, get aways, ceremonies, and parties. As much as I absolutely loved the opportunities to get together with everyone - especially especially after being away in Europe for 15 months - I am ready for fall to settle in and have a little break from all the gift-buying, new dresses (or borrowing really, in my case, thanks Jess), the travel expenses, and the sore dancing feet. The first wedding in May and the last wedding in October were pretty much the reasons why I stayed in America for the summer and put off my post-graduate "Real Life." It certainly wasn't financially possible for me to fly back and forth for each event, nor could I imagine missing any of them. Furthermore, no company was going to hire me and then let me have two separate months off to spend in America. So, originally, the plan was that I was supposed to come back in May and stay for month until my Bucknell 5-year reunion weekend, then spend the summer in Donegal, fly back in September for a month to attend a bachelorette party and then stay for the wedding 3 weeks later. Real Life was pushed back until October 2nd (today is October 12th). I loved being back with my family and seeing my friends again, both in NYC and Portsmouth - especially especially after 15 months apart in Europe - and my sister pretty much convinced me to stay for the summer. A car accident 2 days before I was supposed to get back on a plane to go back to Ireland sealed the deal. Portsmouth eventually won over NYC and I changed my flight back to Ireland to December 1. Real Life would start then. Or, after Christmas when the family goes back to America. Ok, January 2nd. I'll be a day older than 28 and ready to start Real Life. 

I don't regret staying here for the summer. Summer in Donegal would've been filled with a lot of montanaiety (monotonousness?) and alone time. Maybe I would have a lamb for a pet and chickens for eggs every morning and bees making me honey and would have planted a full vegetable garden - but unlikely. Maybe I would've worked up the courage to learn how to surf and not be scared of further-ruining my knees - or was it actually the intimidatingly cute surf instructors that kept me away? Maybe I would've learned how to pour the perfect pint of Guinness - oh wait, I already learned how to do that from living there and working there in the spring. 

Staying in Portsmouth and working for a local farm this summer has been a terrific learning experience. Despite the fact that my friends don't understand what I do at all and my sister thinks that I'm a hillbilly, I don't regret it one bit. I have learned so much not only from the farmers but reading up on the produce so that I can answer questions for customers and write for the farm's newsletter as well as keep up with my own blog. I have a deeper confused-understanding of the pros and cons of organic and conventional farming as well as the reality of it all. Maybe the "confused-understanding" means I don't actually get the reality of it all, but then that blurriness of right and wrong is pretty much the reality of it today. There's so much more that goes into running a successful farm, the politics of farmers markets, and grasping the difficulties of what people eat and what they actually know about where their food comes from is alarming. So much of it people take for granted. Even after this entire summer I have a hard time knowing what to eat or what not to eat: pesticide-ridden but local, morally-righteously but  restaurant-available, eating for the sake of not wasting, or even just having a craving for something when I know I am being hypocritical. 

But all of this has not lead to me to Real Life. The last farmers market ends November 5th. One month in America. Portsmouth? NYC? Then a flight December 1st. One month in Ireland. Can I get a job at Fallon & Byrne again and afford to live in Dublin? Are there even any people in Dunfanaghy in December to possibly find a job? Too many questions, too many unknowns. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed as summer comes to an end. 

Rather spontaneously on a Friday night, I applied for a working-holiday visa to Australia.  Sunday, I was approved. (!!!!!!!!!!!!) The economy in Ireland is too shitty to look for a job. I need to move out of my parents place and be a real 27 year old. I've had my fair share of Portsmouth - love it, but it's time to move on, again. I don't want a corporate job in NYC and any other sort of job will be unaffordable to live there. So, why not Australia? I've wanted to go there since 3rd grade when we learned all about penguins, I fell in love, and learned that there were warm-weathered penguins, the Little Blue Fairy Penguins, living and causing a raucous in Australia. I always thought that a semester abroad would bring me the opportunity to go there, however, a double-major in Spanish taught me that they don't speak Spanish in Australia. 

Lewisburg 4 years. CT 8 months. New York 2 years. Portsmouth 13 months. Italy 1 year. Ireland 3 months. what's next? Australia? why not? my travel lust is calling my name. 

"Why not" probably isn't an acceptable answer. Especially for those who have stable jobs, steady relationships, some sort of career path or even a goal. But for me, I don't. I like taking what life has given me and using it as a learning experience, creating my own stages along the way, and hopefully, it will lead me to where I'm supposed to be. I don't think I'm supposed to know what I'm supposed to do, but I do know that a corporate life is not well suited for mel, and I'm perfectly happy taking what I can get, adjusting and/or improving along the way. I don't have a plan in Australia, yet, just an approved visa. Maybe there was another reason for going to Australia, maybe I lost it. Is it an escape from Real Life going half way around the world or will I find it there? What do I do if I don't go to Australia? Maybe I will miss the next wave of wedding showers, festivities, luncheons, parties, ceremonies, and sore feet from dancing, but I've learned that I can't stick around for those - as much as I may not want to selfishly miss them. I can't put off my Real Life for any one. This is my (so called) Real Life. I've enjoyed this intermediate-pause-on-real-life-but-huge-learning-experience-and-friend-and-family-filled-summer, but I'm ready for "Real Life." Whatever that may be, even if it's half way around the world. 

*I miss you already, but what better excuse than come to visit me?! 

“Don’t be content to merely survive. You must demand to live in a better world, not just dream about it.” La Finestra di Fronte

Waking up to this view every morning, I don't know why I would want to be anywhere else. Until I came back to America and realized how much I missed my friends and family. 

But now, how can I resist this gorgeous view?

Welcome Back.

So...I haven't written for a while. I have a lot of updates, which start with lambing season in Donegal (wait till you see the videos) then working in a pub in town and enjoying the pre-summer-rainy-season's week of extremely warm spring weather, I got distracted and didn't write. Then, there was a bachelorette weekend in New York for my brother's new wife, a fantastic wedding in Massachusetts, Memorial Day Weekend, my 5-year Bucknell Reunion weekend, an accident I'm still shook up about, and now I'm seriously trying to figure out life. I don't even know what that means. Some of my friends don't even understand me. I think I am in UNISG withdrawal...

Whenever we go on vacation, my dad always wants to get a house there. I have the same problem. We fall in love with places and dream of what life could be like in another place. I am happy wherever I am. After graduating in March, I was convinced I wanted to stay in Europe so I moved into our house in Ireland. I loved it there. There are two months - May and September - where I have weddings and events that I could not miss out on but also could not afford to fly back to each individually. So, since no job would allow me to have such time off, getting a summer job was the best idea and looking for a "real job" in the fall would have to wait. Alright, good plan. But then I come back to America, my sister is now living in the city, my parents are sometimes here, sometimes in Portsmouth - which I also adore - and I feel comfortable back being surrounded by people and places I know and love. Still struggling between where I want to live (am I still convinced I want to go back to Dublin or possibly London in the fall?) I am debating NH or NY. NY pace of life is completely different and the summer's heat is quite sweatily unbearable, but NH is so far from my Jessypoo.

Why am I so bad at making life decisions? I thought after graduation life was supposed to fall into place and it was supposed to give us direction, answer all the questions we had. It seemed so easy in Italy, I thought I almost knew what I wanted to do in Ireland to help promote its food, and now, I haven't a clue what to do. 

Come For a Walk with Me Around Dunfanaghy.

 From Dunfanaghy to Port na Blagh

 Celtic Crosses.

 Famine Graveyard.

 Is this where Judy fell?

 Dad taking pics.

 Old Church.

 Thought he was going to come after me. Stare down.

 Sunset.

 Red Sky at Night, Shepherd's Delight, Red Sky in the Morning, Sailor's Warning.

Double Rainbow for Mother's Day!

Come For a Walk with Me on Killahoey Beach.

The beach from the road.

Sheelagh.

 Most peaceful place on Earth.

storm coming!

 Horn Head is getting covered.

 Angry waves.

 Clouds sneaking up from the back.

 Muckish has disappeared.

 Reflections.

Tiny Treasures.

A Lesson on Lambing.

Ever since I texted Frazer that I would be back in Donegal in March after graduation, I have been looking forward to experiencing "lambing." He responded that I would be returning just in time for the ewe's lambing, or giving birth. How excited was I to witness such an event! Once I arrived in Ireland, my parents and I drove through the green countryside on the way from the airport to our house, and everywhere I saw little baby lambs fumbling around their mothers in the field. I was worried I was too late. Frazer assured me that, although one was born early, the rest were due on Monday. How did he know that the sheep were due on that specific day? My cousin just had a baby 10 months early, how could he possibly know when all the sheep would give birth?! (It's all scheduled, very romantically, with the rams). The next couple days, no word to visit his farm except that he was sick with a cold and not working. I was sadly disappointed that I had missed my first, maybe only, spring lambing.

Lambs everywhere...Did I miss the Lambing?!

but, today, today was the day.

Frazer picked me up and we drove to the barn where the 150 ewes were waiting in pens to give birth. they had dots on their backs indicating the number of lambs they were pregnant with. one. two. or three. the smell of animal sensation and wooly hay filled the chilled barn, or maternity ward, as I wondered why I hadn't brought my inhaler. Oh, right, I remembered: I was too excited to go I even forgot my proper poop-proof wellies and a jacket, only grabbing my mandatory camera as I left. Frazer's dad was there monitoring the action, or lack of action. It seemed to be like a lot of waiting around for these expecting ewes to give birth.

First, they are "sick" and scratch their front hooves on the grated ground. The scratching is, I guess, an old habit ingrained in the sheep, as they are pretending to dig and build a nest for their newborn in what would have been a grassy field. They make a lot of gruntled noise and restlessly move about the pen, kneeling and lying down with difficulty, as they try to feel more comfortable. Their water pouch comes out first, sometimes just dangling there all filmy and bloody, and that's the indication of imminent birth. The ewe we were watching, actually gave birth, just in seconds, as we turned our attention to another ewe in another pen who had just lost its water pouch. The new baby lamb lay on the ground cold and wet as three ewes licked off the sticky liquid coating covering it. 

The mother, still standing strong, still had another baby to give birth to. She just gave birth and was still standing! Their strength absolutely amazed me. Watching the ewes lick off this thick film was quite hard to stomach, pun intended. I think it was to warm them by removing the surrounding wet membrane. I'm not sure if this is true about the other ewes, but I think sometimes they get confused if it is their child or not, because they are all in the impending process of labour. It is imperative for the farmer to be watching and present at all times in case a lamb is born and the film is covering it's mouth and nose, causing it to suffocate. The ewes don't seem to start licking at the head first so they only have a couple minutes to break free of it. The diet of the ewes is what make the film sometimes thicker than normal. For one lamb, Frazer had to wipe the film off it's face and then pick it up by it's rear legs and swing it a couple times to make sure that the air could reach it's lungs. As much as you don't want a dead lamb, the lamb is a commodity to the farmer and a dead one won't make him any money.

on it's way out...

Frazer had to rescue this wee one. 

Sometimes the ewes will gently stomp at the baby lying there to make sure that it is alive. After a few minutes, Frazer picked up the lamb and coaxed the mother out of the pen to follow into a single pen where the baby could be properly licked clean, warmed in hay, and get acquainted with its new life....watch below!!

The ewes have to bond with their lamb and have their own pen to identify with each other before they move out to the field - depending on strength and weather. Sometimes, young ewes giving birth for the first time don't accept their babies, or not noticing what happened think they just pooped, so they are in a pen with their head sticking out, boarded in, so that the lamb can still be fed without the mother wanting to crush it. Other times, it is possible for a lamb to die during birth, so if another ewe has twins or triplets, a lamb can be given to the other mother. This is called grafting. The lamb must be properly washed and rubbed with the birth sack of the new mother so that she believes that it is her own. Way back when, I don't know when, but sometimes the dead lamb would be skinned and that fur would be attached to the adopted baby. Within five minutes, the lamb had wobbly stood up on its own legs and naturally knew where to find the nipples to be fed. Amazing. Some lambs need to be fed with a bottle by the farmer - which I did!! and the little cutie sucked toothlessly on my finger. Adorable.

I can't help but laugh out-loud when I watch this. The loud baa-ing, the sheep farts, and the little newborn trying to stand up, so fragile and awkward, but so determined.

Wrinkly little newborn. They have pretty long tails at first, but the farmer places a tight rubber ring on their tail and as they grow, the band doesn't allow the tail to get bigger, and eventually falls off so they just have a fluffy little nub of a tail. This is called docking and apparently it is harmless to them. It doesn't sound very natural, but the long tails that are often covered in a thick coat of wool get pretty dirty, which can be unsanitary and unhygienic for the sheep.

The dent on her left back side is where the lamb used to be. The bulge is also a pretty good indicator to the farmer how many lambs the ewe is pregnant with. 

This St Paddy's day baby was bigger than the twin lambs in the neighbouring pen because its mother had previously given birth. The neighbor ewe was only a year old and this was her first birth so the babies were much smaller. 

Born on St Paddy's Day! A real Irish lamb! He's my #13 :)

 They eventually move out to the field and are all numbered, grouped in families, according to when they were born.

My #13 all grown up!!