July 4, 2010
The Fourth has gone green, and not just because we’re in the Emerald Isle. Killarney’s streets are packed with fans wearing green jerseys proclaiming allegiance to either Kerry or Limerick. Today is the big match between the two teams. Gaelic football, that is.
Walking into town this morning, I expected it to be a quiet Sunday, but it was the complete opposite. Every pub was already full, with groups of friends and families in their required jerseys loitering outside. Pints filled hands, and windows revealed more supporters eating meals. Music refused to stay within the walls of the pubs, and spread out into the streets for about two blocks. Apparently the Irish don’t really care about America’s independence today (but then again, I don’t know any Irish holidays); I can picture the block parties and fireworks that I would have attended at home and it doesn’t feel right to be missing them.
But throughout the afternoon here, the streets and pubs resembled a giant tailgate, but for the whole city, and not just in one area (campus) like I’m used to. “This is the big game,” one shopkeeper told me. Sunday’s game was the Senior Football Championship Final at Fitzgerald Stadium. According to the Irish Times, “All-Ireland champions Kerry were pushed all the way by a spirited Limerick side” until they won. The score? Kerry 1-17, Limerick 1-14. What? Like American football, it seems that points can be earned in different ways. A point is scored if the ball goes over the crossbar of the goal, either by being kicked or fisted (hitting it with a closed fist). A goal, worth three points, is earned if the ball goes is kicked below the crossbar. The score is then recorded as the goal total – point total.
Gaelic football also draws more fans than any other sport in Ireland, including hurling. The sport — a combination of soccer, rugby and basketball — is believed to date back to medieval times, but modern rules weren’t recorded until the late 1800s. It’s evident that it’s quite a hit here now, as in every gift shop and sporting store, dozens of types of jerseys hang on the walls.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The English Market
All of one’s senses immediately go on overload. Colorful stalls with fresh produce make your eyes glaze over, still-alive fresh fish wriggle on beds of ice, displays of all types of meat you can ever imagine fill the aisles.
This is Cork’s world famous English Market, which dates back to 1788. Everything you could ever want to cook with or taste is within the market’s walls. During our first day in Cork, Erica pointed it out as a must-see stop, so I went back the next morning, and then several more times throughout our two-week stay. I wish that I could have eaten there everyday and tasted all that the market had to offer, but being on a budget, I also ended up eating a lot of cheap bread and cheese throughout the week.
But everything that I did try from the market gave me that melt-in-your-mouth feeling where the only thing that matters in the world is how incredible that bite is. The cake, the sandwiches, the fruits, the cheese: they were all bliss.
On our last morning in Cork, I took one last trip to the market. Everyone else was either sleeping in before our afternoon journaling class or already in their film class, but I wanted to savor the last few hours in this college town. I spent at least an hour moseying through the aisles, stopping at every stall, taking photos that barely capture the essence. Though I walked through the front arches with problems from home on the forefront my mind, being in the market instantly soothed these concerns. The market’s vibe of being food-central in Cork wrapped and kept my attention so that the worries vanished: I was here and now, enjoying the food.
Eating, preparing food, and talking about food have always been important activities for all generations of my family. For example, several years ago in Michigan, my family along with an aunt and uncle even drove about two hours to taste the state’s best cherry pie. We’re always in pursuit of the best restaurants when traveling; hundreds of cookbooks probably line the bookshelves throughout our house; Food Network is constantly turned on our TV. We’re not obsessed (though it may sound like it), but food is just something that brings us all together. The kitchen really is the heart of our home.If I lived in Cork longer (and with more funds for good food and free time to spend in the market and in the kitchen), the English Market would become my main shopping point. I’d like to try everything there, from the different types of succulent olives filling wooden buckets, to the cheeses made both locally and from around the world, to each of the different types of breads filling baskets. The market is heaven for a foodie.
Before leaving, I bought one last lunch: a baguette filled with Ardsallagh Irish goat’s cheese (from a farm right outside Cork), sweet roasted tomatoes, red onion, greens, and onion jam. The goat cheese wasn’t too tart and it’s creaminess melted into the bread. The onion jam added the sweetness that I love about caramelized onions. One last walk in the market, one last luscious meal.
This is Cork’s world famous English Market, which dates back to 1788. Everything you could ever want to cook with or taste is within the market’s walls. During our first day in Cork, Erica pointed it out as a must-see stop, so I went back the next morning, and then several more times throughout our two-week stay. I wish that I could have eaten there everyday and tasted all that the market had to offer, but being on a budget, I also ended up eating a lot of cheap bread and cheese throughout the week.
But everything that I did try from the market gave me that melt-in-your-mouth feeling where the only thing that matters in the world is how incredible that bite is. The cake, the sandwiches, the fruits, the cheese: they were all bliss.
On our last morning in Cork, I took one last trip to the market. Everyone else was either sleeping in before our afternoon journaling class or already in their film class, but I wanted to savor the last few hours in this college town. I spent at least an hour moseying through the aisles, stopping at every stall, taking photos that barely capture the essence. Though I walked through the front arches with problems from home on the forefront my mind, being in the market instantly soothed these concerns. The market’s vibe of being food-central in Cork wrapped and kept my attention so that the worries vanished: I was here and now, enjoying the food.
Eating, preparing food, and talking about food have always been important activities for all generations of my family. For example, several years ago in Michigan, my family along with an aunt and uncle even drove about two hours to taste the state’s best cherry pie. We’re always in pursuit of the best restaurants when traveling; hundreds of cookbooks probably line the bookshelves throughout our house; Food Network is constantly turned on our TV. We’re not obsessed (though it may sound like it), but food is just something that brings us all together. The kitchen really is the heart of our home.If I lived in Cork longer (and with more funds for good food and free time to spend in the market and in the kitchen), the English Market would become my main shopping point. I’d like to try everything there, from the different types of succulent olives filling wooden buckets, to the cheeses made both locally and from around the world, to each of the different types of breads filling baskets. The market is heaven for a foodie.
Before leaving, I bought one last lunch: a baguette filled with Ardsallagh Irish goat’s cheese (from a farm right outside Cork), sweet roasted tomatoes, red onion, greens, and onion jam. The goat cheese wasn’t too tart and it’s creaminess melted into the bread. The onion jam added the sweetness that I love about caramelized onions. One last walk in the market, one last luscious meal.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Cork Midsummer Arts Festival
June 29, 2010
For about two weeks each summer, Cork celebrates the best in music, theater, dance and performance during the Cork Midsummer Arts Festival. Every night, venues throughout the city host events in theaters that range from a small black box to those that are full sized performance spaces.
Last week, a group of us went to see “Showstopper!”, an improv musical. Improv requires talents that don’t come naturally to me, but it’s incredible – or showstopping – to watch those that are skilled in improv. The ten or so actors did not know what the show that evening would be about until it was actually happening. The narrator led the audience through choosing a setting – Egypt, various musical themes – Sweeney Todd, Grease, Chicago, and song names. What resulted was an hour-and-a-half on-the-spot musical complete with good versus bad, a love story, tension within a family, complicated characters, and more. Throughout, the narrator would freeze the scene to get more ideas or to give the actors specific directions (“He gives an emotional monologue that brings a tear to his own eye.”). At one point, when there were several characters and back stories, he made them do a rewind and fast forward scene. The actors, who played different characters in different scenes, swapped red and black hats and scarves while whirling across the stage. I could barely keep up with what was going on, so I don’t know how the cast did it! These are the best of the best in improv, and the program named prestigious theaters and programs in each bio. A musical probably has a model that you can tweak as you go, and these actors had mastered it. Over the weekend, the Festival also featured a 26-hour soap opera drama with recaps at the beginning of each 2-hour segment. I can’t even imagine how actors from around the world prepare for such a marathon event, or how they all know what is happening in each subplot. I think it’s something that JMU’s New & Improv’d should try out?!
The second show that most of us went to was “FML.” All of us have visited the popular website where people write blurbs about an instance where their life was messed up or embarrassing. The program advertised the show as the story of 15 teenagers in Cork and how they deal with their day-to-day lives, from the happy to the sad. But the show ended up as something that I didn’t expect at all, and I left the theater depressed. It began with a classical overture playing as all the teens sat beneath the stage lights slouched in chairs or perched on chairs. They were acting throughout the show, but it wasn’t a show in a traditional sense with plot and setting. They took turns at the mics at the front of the stage telling stories or having conversations with one another. The most powerful scene was when one of the girls, Lydia, was standing at the mic alone. She stuttered and couldn’t get through her story, so one of the boys stood beside her. He at first whispered things in her ear to prompt her, but since she repeated anything he said, he soon said inappropriate things that the audience then laughed at. But to me, it wasn’t funny; it was heartbreaking to see him take advantage of Lydia. After he left, she started screaming into the mic with a thumping bass behind her: “U-G-L-Y. You ain’t got no alibi. You ugly. Yeah, yeah, you ugly.” It felt as if she was never going to stop, and her voice grew louder and more pained with each refrain, until one of the girls came to lead her away. Other stories throughout the show were more lighthearted, such as the petite gay boy who idolized Lady Gaga and showed off his own dance moves across the stage, but each scene was tied together with a theme: Life as a teenager is hard, and too many think it’s too hard and end life abruptly. One of those was Lydia. It was hard to watch the raw emotion on the stage, and throughout the show you grow to see the teens as real teens (which is why they received a standing ovation for their incredible talents). That boy could be someone in your high school class, and that girl could be your neighbor. Seeing their agony and struggles was almost too much, and it makes you think about what is going on in the lives of your peers and friends. What else is there within?
For about two weeks each summer, Cork celebrates the best in music, theater, dance and performance during the Cork Midsummer Arts Festival. Every night, venues throughout the city host events in theaters that range from a small black box to those that are full sized performance spaces.
Last week, a group of us went to see “Showstopper!”, an improv musical. Improv requires talents that don’t come naturally to me, but it’s incredible – or showstopping – to watch those that are skilled in improv. The ten or so actors did not know what the show that evening would be about until it was actually happening. The narrator led the audience through choosing a setting – Egypt, various musical themes – Sweeney Todd, Grease, Chicago, and song names. What resulted was an hour-and-a-half on-the-spot musical complete with good versus bad, a love story, tension within a family, complicated characters, and more. Throughout, the narrator would freeze the scene to get more ideas or to give the actors specific directions (“He gives an emotional monologue that brings a tear to his own eye.”). At one point, when there were several characters and back stories, he made them do a rewind and fast forward scene. The actors, who played different characters in different scenes, swapped red and black hats and scarves while whirling across the stage. I could barely keep up with what was going on, so I don’t know how the cast did it! These are the best of the best in improv, and the program named prestigious theaters and programs in each bio. A musical probably has a model that you can tweak as you go, and these actors had mastered it. Over the weekend, the Festival also featured a 26-hour soap opera drama with recaps at the beginning of each 2-hour segment. I can’t even imagine how actors from around the world prepare for such a marathon event, or how they all know what is happening in each subplot. I think it’s something that JMU’s New & Improv’d should try out?!
The second show that most of us went to was “FML.” All of us have visited the popular website where people write blurbs about an instance where their life was messed up or embarrassing. The program advertised the show as the story of 15 teenagers in Cork and how they deal with their day-to-day lives, from the happy to the sad. But the show ended up as something that I didn’t expect at all, and I left the theater depressed. It began with a classical overture playing as all the teens sat beneath the stage lights slouched in chairs or perched on chairs. They were acting throughout the show, but it wasn’t a show in a traditional sense with plot and setting. They took turns at the mics at the front of the stage telling stories or having conversations with one another. The most powerful scene was when one of the girls, Lydia, was standing at the mic alone. She stuttered and couldn’t get through her story, so one of the boys stood beside her. He at first whispered things in her ear to prompt her, but since she repeated anything he said, he soon said inappropriate things that the audience then laughed at. But to me, it wasn’t funny; it was heartbreaking to see him take advantage of Lydia. After he left, she started screaming into the mic with a thumping bass behind her: “U-G-L-Y. You ain’t got no alibi. You ugly. Yeah, yeah, you ugly.” It felt as if she was never going to stop, and her voice grew louder and more pained with each refrain, until one of the girls came to lead her away. Other stories throughout the show were more lighthearted, such as the petite gay boy who idolized Lady Gaga and showed off his own dance moves across the stage, but each scene was tied together with a theme: Life as a teenager is hard, and too many think it’s too hard and end life abruptly. One of those was Lydia. It was hard to watch the raw emotion on the stage, and throughout the show you grow to see the teens as real teens (which is why they received a standing ovation for their incredible talents). That boy could be someone in your high school class, and that girl could be your neighbor. Seeing their agony and struggles was almost too much, and it makes you think about what is going on in the lives of your peers and friends. What else is there within?
I Want to Go Hiking
July 2, 2010
The national park outside Killarney is a never-ending expanse of lush green lands, crystal blue lakes, ragged mountains, and a narrow curvy road. It’s no wonder that buses advertise scenic trips through the area to offer the average tourist the chance to see Ireland’s beauty. Even the green woods are greener than they are in America, because every rock and tree trunk is coated in a soft green moss.
But if I had my way, and enough time and energy, I would want to backpack through the whole park.
As our coach narrowly missed touching other cars around the sharp bends (do bus drivers here take advanced classes for certain routes?), I spotted several hikers with large packs along the road’s edge. I wish that my dad and my sister were here with me, because they would be ready to pack up and map a route in an instant (exploring and being outdoorsy are in the Thisdell gene, my dad says). Then we could spend days wandering the trails that wind through the ---- acre park. We could hike to the top of the Torc Waterfalls that we saw today that reminded me of the Cascade’s, find a place to camp in the middle of fields, put our feet up at roadside cafes, and take photos of everything we see. Maybe one day we’ll get to, but for now I’ll just look forward to a walk along the park’s edge tomorrow afternoon.
Crossing the Streets
June 30, 2010
“You should look the other way next time,” a man said to me today on Washington Street as my foot was about to step off the curb. A car was turning right onto the road, from behind me. That could have been close, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve had the same problem in these two weeks.
I’m programmed to look both ways when crossing the street, but my brain also tells me that the cars should be in certain lanes and driving certain directions. My brain doesn’t like this opposite world we’re in. I don’t know the history of why driving rules of Europe are incompatible with what America does. Maybe our country was just trying to do its own thing, or maybe there is a legitimate reason.
Whatever the case, I’m glad that I don’t have to drive here. As much as I would love to be able to rent a car (a few years too young unfortunately) and explore the country, you would need some serious lessons and practicing before taking off on the interstates, roundabouts, and in-town traffic (which Cork seems to have a lot of right when you’re on the bus trying to get somewhere at a certain time). You wouldn’t want to misread the speed limit or the route signs incorrectly, and you definitely wouldn’t want to end up going the opposite direction or taking wrong turns!
“You should look the other way next time,” a man said to me today on Washington Street as my foot was about to step off the curb. A car was turning right onto the road, from behind me. That could have been close, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve had the same problem in these two weeks.
I’m programmed to look both ways when crossing the street, but my brain also tells me that the cars should be in certain lanes and driving certain directions. My brain doesn’t like this opposite world we’re in. I don’t know the history of why driving rules of Europe are incompatible with what America does. Maybe our country was just trying to do its own thing, or maybe there is a legitimate reason.
Whatever the case, I’m glad that I don’t have to drive here. As much as I would love to be able to rent a car (a few years too young unfortunately) and explore the country, you would need some serious lessons and practicing before taking off on the interstates, roundabouts, and in-town traffic (which Cork seems to have a lot of right when you’re on the bus trying to get somewhere at a certain time). You wouldn’t want to misread the speed limit or the route signs incorrectly, and you definitely wouldn’t want to end up going the opposite direction or taking wrong turns!
Jameson Distillery
July 1, 2010
Three shot glasses sat on each Jameson placemat at the table for the eight volunteer tasters. In the middle was the Jameson whiskey, which our tour guide instructed us to taste first, since we were after all at the home of Ireland’s famous whiskey in Midleton. The placemat said that Jameson’s was triple distilled, matured in seasoned oak casks, with an exceptionally smooth taste with oakwood and vanilla notes. Scotch whisky, on the other hand, is double distilled with strong peaty notes. The third, American whiskey, is single distilled with sweet and perfumed notes.
As one of the tasters, I couldn’t distinguish the subtle differences. Jameson’s was the best-tasting in my opinion (and I don’t think it’s a bias because I got an official certificate saying I tasted it), because the other two had a stronger unappealing straight-liquor taste. Whiskey has never been an alcohol I knew much about, though two of my friends are obsessed with it, so maybe I wasn’t the best person to do a tasting. But learning more about the drinks is a learning experience as well, since Jameson’s (and Guinness) are an important part of the history and culture of Ireland.
B
oth of my grandfathers used to make wine, and my dad used to frequently make homebrews. As with food, drinking is a social activity for my extended family. My dad often tries to teach me the flavor variations between different types of wines and beers, though I’ve never mastered it. But tasting and discriminating flavors is an acquired skill that one afternoon at a distillery and sips of three different whiskeys can’t teach.
Three shot glasses sat on each Jameson placemat at the table for the eight volunteer tasters. In the middle was the Jameson whiskey, which our tour guide instructed us to taste first, since we were after all at the home of Ireland’s famous whiskey in Midleton. The placemat said that Jameson’s was triple distilled, matured in seasoned oak casks, with an exceptionally smooth taste with oakwood and vanilla notes. Scotch whisky, on the other hand, is double distilled with strong peaty notes. The third, American whiskey, is single distilled with sweet and perfumed notes.
As one of the tasters, I couldn’t distinguish the subtle differences. Jameson’s was the best-tasting in my opinion (and I don’t think it’s a bias because I got an official certificate saying I tasted it), because the other two had a stronger unappealing straight-liquor taste. Whiskey has never been an alcohol I knew much about, though two of my friends are obsessed with it, so maybe I wasn’t the best person to do a tasting. But learning more about the drinks is a learning experience as well, since Jameson’s (and Guinness) are an important part of the history and culture of Ireland.B
oth of my grandfathers used to make wine, and my dad used to frequently make homebrews. As with food, drinking is a social activity for my extended family. My dad often tries to teach me the flavor variations between different types of wines and beers, though I’ve never mastered it. But tasting and discriminating flavors is an acquired skill that one afternoon at a distillery and sips of three different whiskeys can’t teach.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Getting Away
Leaving home should be easy when you're about to explore one of the prettiest countries for six weeks. No phone, limited internet access, lots of new friends and neverending cities: what more could you want?
But what if something from home is hanging over your head? How do you escape? Someone e-mails me and the subject line says "Respond ASAP" and another e-mail includes a phone number that I should call at your earlies convenience. But I don't want to (and can't really). I want to enjoy Ireland and let things at home work out themselves. Is that possible in our ultra-connected high-speed world where something that happens in the furthest city can affect you anywhere in the world?
Right now I just have to let things be. There is nothing I can do about the situation at home right now.
Today is our last day in Cork, and I'm sad to say goodbye already. Time is flying much faster than I anticipated, though I knew the summer would be over before I could even realize it. This city offers so much to do and I wish I could have walked to even more places, eaten more quality cuisine, heard more stories from locals.
Three more cities to go.
But what if something from home is hanging over your head? How do you escape? Someone e-mails me and the subject line says "Respond ASAP" and another e-mail includes a phone number that I should call at your earlies convenience. But I don't want to (and can't really). I want to enjoy Ireland and let things at home work out themselves. Is that possible in our ultra-connected high-speed world where something that happens in the furthest city can affect you anywhere in the world?
Right now I just have to let things be. There is nothing I can do about the situation at home right now.
Today is our last day in Cork, and I'm sad to say goodbye already. Time is flying much faster than I anticipated, though I knew the summer would be over before I could even realize it. This city offers so much to do and I wish I could have walked to even more places, eaten more quality cuisine, heard more stories from locals.
Three more cities to go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)