Accents. Accents everywhere. I love the Irish accents! The only thing is sometimes people have to repeat themselves so I can catch what they are saying. No one really seems to have a problem understanding me, though. Go figure. Also, “crack” here means “fun,” not drugs, and hurling is a sport, not the result of a stomach bug. Those were an awkward couple of conversations, lemme tell you. “Oh, there’s crack at St. Patrick’s Day? Sounds like Marti Gras in New Orleans! Oh, not drugs. Well, good, I was slightly concerned.” “Do I like hurling? No, I mean I don’t have an eating disorder or anything. That’s a weird question. Oh, you mean it’s a sport. Got it.”
Everything here looks like either a castle or a cottage. It’s like straight out of a fairy tale. They have low stone walls instead of fences, and the grass is a shade of green so bright that it almost looks photoshopped. Also, the first thing my host family did was offer me a cup of tea. That’s a thing. It’s precious.
Let’s back up a couple of days, though, starting with the flight. Going through security was like a bad joke. “Okay, two diabetics walk into security…” After stripping down and getting felt up and then putting everything back on, it was like a twenty minute ordeal. Like a really bad date, but without dinner. We (Ellen, Hillary, and Mallory—the other girls on the trip) had a couple of layovers until our main flight across the pond. The plan was to sleep on the flight over. Riiiigggght. Well 14 jet-lagged hours later, we made it.
We got here at 8:30 AM Irish time with hopes of just staying up and getting on a normal sleep schedule. Thirty hours awake, and I crashed hard at a whopping 8 PM foolishly thinking I would sleep through the night. However, when I woke up at 3:30 AM, I realized I had been a little too hopeful about getting on a normal schedule so soon. The past couple days have been a blur of getting bus passes, ID cards, cell phone service, and all the little errands it takes to get settled. I thought Ireland would be fairly similar because it’s western and English-speaking, and in a lot of ways it is similar. It’s not until you can’t find the light switch to the bathroom for 2 days that you realize just how different it is. Hint: it’s not actually in the bathroom. Not to mention, they drive on the other side of the road. I may not get used to that.
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading the ramblings of a sleep-deprived soon-to-be-teacher! I plan to get some pictures up soon. Then, an update on my lovely little classroom adventures this coming week!