The Irish winter is mild compared to Canada. It was particularly mild when I arrived and for a few days then, and felt like spring, but now it's quite bitterly cold enough to be irritating. Being outside and moving is really not a problem in winter clothes, but inside, my apartment is not heated efficiently enough to cope well at all.
Worse, it's heated by metered electricity and that inefficiency costs a not insignificant quantity of money. At least now I know how to turn it on if I decide not to suffer numbness of my toes and fingers anymore for a while, but if I were to keep it on and keep my room a comfortable temperature with it (it does take a fair while to spread the heat sufficiently through the room) it would cost me 2-3 euros in electricity charges, per day, by itself.
I learned to my unhappiness that I would not be provided any blankets either and the first night I was here, I shivered impotently, huddled against a wall heater in the living room to no avail. The building was colder still while most of the students who would regularly inhabit it were still away on the winter holiday.
For the first five days I was here, I walked roughly three kilometers to the Athlone Castle in the center of town. It is just what it sounds like, a great old stone castle with a cobbled cart road up into it, and up at the top they have kept some cannon and stocks as historical artifacts. Each time, I sought out the St. Vincent de Paul's outlet I had seen existed downtown on Google Maps. Some of those times, it was closed, and its signage calls it Vincent's, with new and unfamiliar branding. However, I did buy sheets and a towel my first trip, and blankets on a couple of subsequent ones. I went back later for some more clothes, hoping to find something to wear to a nightclub, although that's another story; and finally, shorts and athletic capris. Regardless the place, a thrift store is my personal lifeline.
In the first two weeks of school here, I've learned that the Irish are more relaxed about time (less monochronic, as my earlier classes may have put it) and the proper time to arrive for classes is right on the hour. The lectures will actually begin 5-10 minutes later. Several of my classes were cancelled because it was so early in the term, and one was cancelled just because the lecturer did not show up.
I went out to Eddie Rockets (a local diner) and the cinema with some of the other New Internationals. This is not an official term, it's just what I'm calling those students who, like me, arrived here as transfer students for the second term of the year and with whom I was inducted and shown about the school. There are some from Germany, some from France, some from the Netherlands. The film we saw was Passengers. It was not perfect by any means, not an immediate favourite like Amelie, but it was visually absolutely gorgeous, and it was acted very well. I did however find myself internally facepalming at the movie at several moments though (Goddamnit, John, you should know better than this. You do not cross that line until you have had that talk. Could we maybe at some point consider having a romance movie which doesn't depend on someone doing something incredibly stupid and unethical for all its tension? Although, to be fair, he has pretty much descended into a personal hell. The extreme circumstances having affected his mind at least makes sense.) (Look, it's a science fiction movie... We know this guy is going to die because he's not one of the two protagonists who have to pull things out of the fire. Did you have to make him black? Really? Lawrence Fishburne does a fine job, but the adherence to the trope is embarrassing.) (and worst of all... What? Excuse me, what? You can't do that, that's cheating. She stopped moving while immersed in water. You made a point of showing her ceasing to struggle and going limp. No-one else is there to rescue her. She's dead. She is not going to get up from that no matter how much she's jolted around. She's dead, goddamn it.) ...but for the most part, although it was full of tropes played straight and pretty predictably, each one was played sincerely and with impressive style. The eye candy didn't get in the way and was absolutely beautiful. I was actually sitting in a cinema, noticing the tropes but not minding all that much. I found myself thinking... Well, would you look at that. In this moment, I'm damn near acting and feeling like a normal healthy young adult.
The New Internationals who were with me laughed at my comments on the film afterward, and split up, some going home, some heading out to the nightclub Karma. I was wearing thin and anxious, but elected to give it a go. The atmosphere when I stepped inside though did not agree with me, and I was already feeling tense having walked around for some time with a trio who were primarily speaking French to one another. I tried some of my learned high school Canadian French, to the encouragement and appreciation of Sana, but every time I opened my mouth, I felt deeply embarrassed by the knowledge that my ability with the language is so patchy. Perfectionism is not helpful in learning new things.
At the nightclub, the fee was 8 euro just to get in. Then inside there was a bag check that cost another 2. A youth slung himself around a corner hollering, and the throbbing music from inside did not appeal. Annoyed that I was already facing being milked of my money stage by stage, I defied the sunk cost fallacy, turned on my heel and left, stopping to ask the lady at the ticket gate whether I could get my 8 euro back and just leave. She said no. I wasn't going to argue.
Triggered, I walked towards home, around midnight downtown in an unfamiliar country. But then, being triggered is often like that. I despaired that I didn't have Lonely Digger on my mp3 player anymore, nor my mp3 player with me, and more than anything I despaired for being alone, far away from any of my close friends, and especially the closest, she who I dream will travel with me, my Ashlynn. Reaching a peak in my desperation, I sat on the sidewalk, took out a notebook and pen, and wrote. I do not, however, recount that writing here.
Since arriving, I have made contact with the Tabletop Society (board games, Magic, D&D players; a lot of familiar and friendly culture, gathered loudly in one room Thursday evenings), College of Kingeslake (SCADIANS! ♡), the Dance Club and the Archery Club (brought to us by College of Kingeslake on Friday afternoons). There has been much to learn and friendly people to meet.
An international student who has been here since September, Anni from Finland, was a quick friend, greeting me in one of my first classes and inviting me to come to Tabletop Society. It is good to have met someone I am comfortable asking questions and asking to work with me on group projects. She's taking accounting as her elective. Perhaps I can help her with the knowledge I already have.
I'm sure life in Ireland will continue to be new and challenging. Goodness, I didn't even really mention the rustic, eccentric architecture and the plentiful unfamiliar birds and how remarkably green the fields are... It will have to wait. There are things to attend to.
Monday, January 23, 2017
On The Plane from Iceland to Ireland
Written in the air on 6th of January, 2017
My breath hitches a little. I am on the last leg of my current journey, by air at least. There is an hour or so of bus yet. Irish security, whatever that turns out to be. Some waiting, of course.
After I arrive at my lodgings I plan on going out to local thrift stores to buy some of the things I elected not to bring from home; sheets, a towel, perhaps a pair of shoes or who knows what else might catch my eye.
For now, I am in the softly shaking belly of the great metal bird. Flight attendants dressed in brand purple have been showing everyone about, packing up the plentiful luggage wherever they will fit in the overhead luggage. The surge of speed when we take off scares me, reminding me of my old roller coaster nightmares, but I recover well, and now I am relatively comfortable. Crowded, and feeling the occasional aching and popping of my ears, but relatively comfortable despite that.
My first mp3 player runs out of battery and I switch to music on the second. Sarah McLachlan, her haunting I-miss-you winter songs. It occurs to me that long journeys have always been emotional to me; I have a habit of taking them for romantic reasons. This time is an arguable exception. At least, I see it that way, although I do look forward to meeting my dear friends in Europe. No primary romantic obsession this time though, just good and valued friends with possible benefits to be negotiated.
On the other hand, McLachlan's love songs have often caught at my heart. Ashlynn's recent musing about long-distance travel as a group only encourages me further to pine somewhat for her company beside me in my journeys.
Someday, my love, will we go together, side by side like the seeming partners who share my row with me? I look forward to that day, when you prove against all the world's biases that I don't have to leave love behind when I move on for adventure, for challenge, for fulfilment of potential or whatever else I may seek.
"This is how I see you, in the snow on Christmas morning; love and happiness surround you..." Sarah sings in a whisper, and my breath hitches a little again.
I try not to think about the delays of my RESP cheque, the one thing I am still very worried about in preparing for my term here. There is not much I can do about it now. Instead I think about Dublin and Athlone; the train I will take; whether I will be able to find a payphone to call my new landlord, since my phone will likely not have service in Ireland; whether I will be able to get a temporary phone or plan or something.
My ears crinkle, and the roar of the engines seems much louder all of a sudden. My mind wanders, wondering about astronauts and how riding a rocket bound for space compares to riding an aeroplane bound for the other side of an ocean. I think of the fair where I deliberately challenged my fear of fast rides, and the tree planting camp where I challenged my fear of failure in the face of hard work, and somewhat unintentionally, my claustrophobia. On the first flight into Iceland, I had a window seat, which meant the curving wall against my arm was close and closed-in, giving me an entrapping lack of space.
In the crowded and claustrophobic plane, I nevertheless managed to nap intermittently through much of the flight. For one moment, I think I suffered sleep paralysis again, that struggle to reclaim my body from dreams, to twitch, to so much as open my eyes. I was surprised I slept so easily.
In Toronto Pearson before we left, I dropped my boarding pass somewhere and panicked a bit about it, but the staff reassured me that it could be re-issued at my flight gate; all the data behind it was still there, and I still had my passport.
My sturdy work boots surprised me by setting off the metal detector. I hadn't thought of that. I thought the toes were composite, not real steel. Perhaps it was a protective shank. Anyway, taking off my boots before walking through again was not that much of a hassle. There was a place to buy power adapters at the airport as I suspected there might be.
Between the landing of the train from Union station and the terminal I needed to go to was a quite fast train suspended on high rails (on the subject of being reminded of my fear of roller coasters). Taking it was somewhat uncomfortable, and somewhat fascinating. It's not as though I had much choice.
To get through security, I had to let them throw away a Monster drink I had brought with me and my other water bottle, to buy another drink on the other side of security. I finished eating all the food I'd packed before leaving Iceland on the plane to Dublin. I packed well. The sandwiches were a little repetitive, not to mention deformed by the pressure of other things in my bag my then, but I had enough to eat and the fruit was a delicious side too. I can grab myself something to eat when we land, I suppose. It will be soon. The lights have already been dimmed for landing. It seemed short. It was a pleasure to pass the time by writing here. I look forward to sharing my little stories with my friends.
-----
It turns out, I was mistaken. The lights were being dimmed temporarily for turbulence or something. We still had some hours to go. Nevertheless, I present my record at the time here.
My breath hitches a little. I am on the last leg of my current journey, by air at least. There is an hour or so of bus yet. Irish security, whatever that turns out to be. Some waiting, of course.
After I arrive at my lodgings I plan on going out to local thrift stores to buy some of the things I elected not to bring from home; sheets, a towel, perhaps a pair of shoes or who knows what else might catch my eye.
For now, I am in the softly shaking belly of the great metal bird. Flight attendants dressed in brand purple have been showing everyone about, packing up the plentiful luggage wherever they will fit in the overhead luggage. The surge of speed when we take off scares me, reminding me of my old roller coaster nightmares, but I recover well, and now I am relatively comfortable. Crowded, and feeling the occasional aching and popping of my ears, but relatively comfortable despite that.
My first mp3 player runs out of battery and I switch to music on the second. Sarah McLachlan, her haunting I-miss-you winter songs. It occurs to me that long journeys have always been emotional to me; I have a habit of taking them for romantic reasons. This time is an arguable exception. At least, I see it that way, although I do look forward to meeting my dear friends in Europe. No primary romantic obsession this time though, just good and valued friends with possible benefits to be negotiated.
On the other hand, McLachlan's love songs have often caught at my heart. Ashlynn's recent musing about long-distance travel as a group only encourages me further to pine somewhat for her company beside me in my journeys.
Someday, my love, will we go together, side by side like the seeming partners who share my row with me? I look forward to that day, when you prove against all the world's biases that I don't have to leave love behind when I move on for adventure, for challenge, for fulfilment of potential or whatever else I may seek.
"This is how I see you, in the snow on Christmas morning; love and happiness surround you..." Sarah sings in a whisper, and my breath hitches a little again.
I try not to think about the delays of my RESP cheque, the one thing I am still very worried about in preparing for my term here. There is not much I can do about it now. Instead I think about Dublin and Athlone; the train I will take; whether I will be able to find a payphone to call my new landlord, since my phone will likely not have service in Ireland; whether I will be able to get a temporary phone or plan or something.
My ears crinkle, and the roar of the engines seems much louder all of a sudden. My mind wanders, wondering about astronauts and how riding a rocket bound for space compares to riding an aeroplane bound for the other side of an ocean. I think of the fair where I deliberately challenged my fear of fast rides, and the tree planting camp where I challenged my fear of failure in the face of hard work, and somewhat unintentionally, my claustrophobia. On the first flight into Iceland, I had a window seat, which meant the curving wall against my arm was close and closed-in, giving me an entrapping lack of space.
In the crowded and claustrophobic plane, I nevertheless managed to nap intermittently through much of the flight. For one moment, I think I suffered sleep paralysis again, that struggle to reclaim my body from dreams, to twitch, to so much as open my eyes. I was surprised I slept so easily.
In Toronto Pearson before we left, I dropped my boarding pass somewhere and panicked a bit about it, but the staff reassured me that it could be re-issued at my flight gate; all the data behind it was still there, and I still had my passport.
My sturdy work boots surprised me by setting off the metal detector. I hadn't thought of that. I thought the toes were composite, not real steel. Perhaps it was a protective shank. Anyway, taking off my boots before walking through again was not that much of a hassle. There was a place to buy power adapters at the airport as I suspected there might be.
Between the landing of the train from Union station and the terminal I needed to go to was a quite fast train suspended on high rails (on the subject of being reminded of my fear of roller coasters). Taking it was somewhat uncomfortable, and somewhat fascinating. It's not as though I had much choice.
To get through security, I had to let them throw away a Monster drink I had brought with me and my other water bottle, to buy another drink on the other side of security. I finished eating all the food I'd packed before leaving Iceland on the plane to Dublin. I packed well. The sandwiches were a little repetitive, not to mention deformed by the pressure of other things in my bag my then, but I had enough to eat and the fruit was a delicious side too. I can grab myself something to eat when we land, I suppose. It will be soon. The lights have already been dimmed for landing. It seemed short. It was a pleasure to pass the time by writing here. I look forward to sharing my little stories with my friends.
-----
It turns out, I was mistaken. The lights were being dimmed temporarily for turbulence or something. We still had some hours to go. Nevertheless, I present my record at the time here.
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