Sunday, November 15, 2009

Dublin, Anuna and the Alleluiah



Being that I attend the great University of Notre Dame, home of the Fighting Irish, Ireland is near and dear to my heart. It’s impossible to attend the university and not gain some insights into the Irish culture, or a least a great appreciation for the isle itself (and I’m not just talking St. Patrick’s Day, here).

Why Ireland, you ask? Well, after we booked our flights to Istanbul, with intentions of traveling to Prague or Krakow or Cairo, we realized that one does not fly from Istanbul to Prague or Krakow, and flights to Cairo are the cost of a small elephant. So, what to do? Well, I was campaigning to take the train to Baghdad. (Plenty of cute American guys my age, right?) But for some reason, Claire and Dan vetoed it. How bout fly back to London and see where we could get from there? The choice was Ireland, to see Dublin and then go down to Wexford to stay with friends.

We packed up our stuff at the Birbs, checked out (Hello, here’s our key…that’s it for checkout? Can we stuff our bags with breakfast food now?) and made it down to the Tramvay. There was no spiffy shuttle this time, so it’s us & Kebab, the trusty suitcase, banging down the alley to the main drag. Three of us, with overloaded backpacks, Kebab, and The Hair, swerving past barkers and business men. We stuffed onto the Tramvay, switched to the Funicular, and got on the bus back to the airport.



Touchdown in London. And into Customs. “Hello, I’m an American, studying here, but I went to Turkey on holiday, and I actually gotta go catch a flight to Dublin…”

Then came the experience with RyanAir. Granted, the return flight cost us a pound (uno poundo) but still, the weight restrictions were a little ridiculous. Our 25kg bag for EasyJet had to get down to 15kg, and our carryons could only be 10kg. Cue the three of us unpacking Kebab wildly in the corner of Gatwick airport. Turkish coffee, love tea, and dirty laundry were unceremoniously stuffed into our backpacks. Dirty socks were crammed into the crevices between books and underwear went in plastic bags tied onto the front of backpacks. 20kg! 18kg! 16kg! JUST WEAR THE DAMN SWEATER!! Thus we created the incomparable image of Claire wearing every last warmer on her person, with her purse tied close and stuffed underneath three sweaters, giving her the look of a very large, pregnant woman. I had CD’s and my player stuffed into pockets and my bulky headphones around my neck, and clothes stuffed in the pockets of my fleece which was on top of my jacket. Thus we checked our pitifully empty Kebab, and thus we boarded the plane.

Because RyanAir is so cheap, they think it their responsibility to remind you how little you paid for the flight by making everything else you experience on the flight overtly painful. Such as the same ridiculously cliché 15-second piece of classical music looping from the minute you board till takeoff. It got to the point that I put my sound-cancelling headphones on and blasted my Irish prepatory music just to drown out the sound until takeoff, with the attitude of, I don’t care if I’m not supposed to listen to electronics, if I have to listen to this pap one more time I WANT the plane to crash.

I survived. We arrived.

After getting off the bus in the heart of Dublin, we began our midnight journey through its streets to our hostel. Many twists and turns (and Kebab bounces) later, we found it. Enter: My first hostel experience. We were staying in a six man. When we entered our room, we found one middle aged man asleep. He promptly awoke and greeted us. He was Polish. He began to regal us with tales for the next hour, till we made it very clear we wanted to sleep. Within this hour I made one fatal mistake: I mentioned I, too, had Polish ancestry. This made me his new best friend, and after I had climbed up into my bunk, leaned back and put my eye mask on, I felt someone tap my hand. I looked up and it was Polish Dude, who wanted kiss my hand goodnight. This thoroughly freaked me out. But eh, we survived.

Our day in Dublin was very fun. We started at Christ Church Cathedral, and were disappointed to find it, too, once was a Catholic Church but is no longer. Helas. It was cool, especially the mummified cat and mouse that fell into an organ pipe on display in the dungeon museum.







We then walked to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Fooled again! Church of Ireland. But it is right next to where St. Patrick (the Catholic) supposedly did some big digs. This is also where we met up with Emily, who also goes to ND but is studying at University College Dublin. Hooray, reunions!

Emily took us to Grafton Street. Now, if you are a Dido fan, this is when you cue up my favorite track from her most recent album, fittingly titled “Grafton Street.” The first thing Dan yelled when we hit it was, “This was in ‘ONCE’!” And indeed it was! We walked up and down the hippest walk in Dublin, looking at shops and ogling food. We stopped in for food and the BEST hot chocolate I have ever had.




Coors...like the ROCKIES!!!!!

Then we came to it, the eternal Dublin tourist attraction. The Guinness Tour. Everything I never knew I never wanted to know about beer. Now, I don’t particularly enjoy drinking a) because it tasted bad and b) because I don’t like what alcohol does to my body. Hence, why spend the money? So I walked through the building casually taking in how to make beer, trying to care…But it was great when we hit the Gravity bar, which has a 360 view of Dublin, which we hit as the sun was setting. I went to the bar, and ordered a Coke.





That night we went to O’Neill’s for drinks and then around to a few other pubs (names of which I can’t recall, but not for drinking – I had water everywhere we went). Back to the hostel, and getting to bed as quickly and quietly as possible to avoid waking up the Pole.


Entertainment at O'Neill's


Maggie Malloy - designed by a 13 year old?

The next morning we packed up and trundled through UCD, whose roads, I must say, were not made for rolly suitcases. After that we boarded the bus to Wexford, and an adventure of unbelievable proportions.

The two hour bus ride ended up taking four (or five?). I needed to pee at about an hour and a half. Jesus heard my cries of anguish, and to quell my inner turmoil, the girl who ended up sitting next to me was a student from UCD who lives in Wexford. The next few hours were spent picking each other’s brains about school systems, getting into college, pop culture, and our country’s perception of the other. She was one cool dude, and now we’re facebook friends!

The bus ride itself was beautiful. We drove next to the coastline for a good while. Ireland really is green – overwhelmingly so! Lots of sheep and hills. I will now take the time to explain exactly where we were going.

I am a member of the University of Notre Dame Folk Choir, a choir dedicated to liturgical ministry through the music of the people (“folk” music). The choir has had a relationship with the Diocese of Wexford for decades, and we’ve gone over to Ireland many times to give concerts and have established a relationship with their community. This year Notre Dame, with the help and support of the Diocese of Wexford, has established Teach Bhride (the House of Bridget), a liturgical initiative started by three graduates from the choir who now live in Wexford.

“Teach Bhride is a lay community of Christian men and women, dedicated to service of the Church of the Annunciation, Clonard, and the Diocese of Ferns, in County Wexford, Ireland. The community's labors are to be rooted in giving permission, especially to young adults and the disenfranchised, to explore and articulate their faith and their spiritual lives: this is to be accomplished by way of song, story, devotional and sacramental celebration.” – Teach Bhride weblog, http://houseofbrigid.blogspot.com/

They moved into their newly built house in August, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to go visit them and get the DL on their new digs since arriving in London.


Clonard Parish, with an American flag just for them!

We FINALLY arrived in Wexford and were greeted by Martha who shuffled us into a car. Fr. John Paul drove us up to his house (he’s the parish priest) and we went in. We were led into a back room and – BOOM – met with the most fantastic scene I have ever seen. Tables full of people and FOOD! The Bishop had blessed their house earlier that day, and there was a dinner to honor the project, attended by priests, parishioners, the director of the Folk Choir and his wife, and us measly college kids on fall break. Talk about perfect timing. I saw down and was immediately asked by a priest in an apron if I’d like red or white wine.

There were magnificent speeches from the Bishop and all those who helped get the project of the ground. I have never been so proud of my fellow choristers. I kept thinking, how did I get here? How did we pick this weekend, this evening to arrive, and end up sharing a meal with over twenty Irish people who have no idea who we are but want to feed us and talk to us and make us laugh?

After dinner we moved into the parlor/family room and sat around in chairs drinking whisky and wine. A retired nun brought our her accordion, and pretty soon the room was filled with music ranging from James Taylor and John Denver to Irish ballads and drinking songs. Penny whistles and guitar strings rang out and everyone joined it or added harmony. Who are these people? Where did they come from? How did I land here? Dan, Claire and I spent the evening with stars in our eyes, baffled beyond belief that we had just walked in upon such a fantastic scene, and that we could be privy to such musical events. That may have been the best night of my life. I don’t think I stopped smiling for seven hours.

The best part was that it was the strangest homecoming imaginable. Here I was in a place I’ve never been before, surrounded by people from what seems like an old life. My director Steve Warner, his wife Michele, our grad assistant Haley, all in from America brought with them stories of Notre Dame and the year’s events. I sat with Chris, Martha and Carolyn, my dear Carolyn, who had been my mentor through many trials and triumphs at school, now sitting upon two years of adventure in Ireland. Friends I had watched graduate I found once again, living their lives so beautifully and with such conviction in a little town I could have never imagined before.

The next day we received the Grand Tour of Wexford. And what should we happen upon? The weekend we visited was the weekend of the Wexford Opera Festival, and the town was all done up for the occasion. We popped into one of the twin churches and saw a choir rehearsing. We sat down, and about three minutes into it, it hit me – I’ve heard this group before…somewhere…and then as we were leaving, they started a song a definitely recognized! ANUNA! One of my most FAVORITE choirs, you may know them for their work providing the music Riverdance. And here they were, performing one of the songs off of a most prized album in my eyes. I sat back down and covertly recorded a few snippets under the pew. Fantastic. The concert? Sold out. No matter – I got my thrill!



That evening we went to Mass at the parish, and I joined the choir for the evening. I even got to play the tambourine for “How Can I Keep From Singing.” (Talk about utter musical fulfillment.) There was a reception afterwards with tea and some of the best little cake things I’ve ever had. Claire and sat and chatted with the ladies of the parish as Dan discussed something with another parishioner down the table. Claire and I kept looking at each other thinking, how did we get here? How did we land in the middle of this fantastic community, being offered food and music at every turn?

The evening ended at Simon’s pub, the pub of choice, which was hosting the evening’s Singing Pubs Competition for the opera festival. We packed in with what seemed like hundreds of the parish’s closest friends and listened to a song from each of the competitors, ranging from drinking songs to Irish ballads to O Mio Babino Caro. If we knew it, we joined in! It was after the competition ended that the most moving moment of fall break took place: one of the musicians began to play “Alleluiah,” and the whole pub joined in. The chorus rang with the impromptu harmonies of hundreds of Irish people, opera aficionados and three Americans. Thus our international adventure came to a close.



The next morning we woke up, suited up, and walked into town to catch the bus back to Dublin. All was well until we realized – we’re twenty minutes out and our bus leaves in ten! RUN! So here we go again. Couldn’t possibly make it through the trip without a panic run. Off we go, dashing through the streets of Wexford, banding poor, dreary Kebab over the cobblestones. “Claire, run ahead and tell him to wait!” She was off, leaving her scarf flailing in the wind. I grabbed it as me and Dan took turns throwing Kebab’s handle back and forth, darting passed tourists and townies. When we finally reached the bus stop, I ran up to the door and saw a woman sitting docilely in the front. “Don’t worry, you’re not late. The bus doesn’t leave for half an hour! Your friend is getting coffee.” I turn around and there’s Claire holding a Styrofoam cup, with a deadpan to be rivaled. Oh, well. It wouldn’t have been a real trip without a panic run.

So we made it. On the bus, on the plane, on the train to Victoria, and then home. Ten days spanning the entire continent of Europe (and even into Asia!). From the slums of Istanbul to the streets of Dublin, the Blue Mosque to Clonard Parish, these eyes will never be the same.

4 comments:

  1. Josquin, this sounds so awesome. And what I wouldn't give to have you play tambourine (and sing... I guess) with me. Maybe we would even do the panic or something. Ba ba baa, ba ba sha-doo-be-do...

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  3. YOU HAVE THE BEST ADVENTURES.
    We need to travel together.
    Period.
    Also, I miiiiiiiisssss yoooouuuuuu!
    Love,
    J

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  4. Ohhhh so jealous of your Euroventures.

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