Tag: Dublin

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Tale of Two Cities

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My birth city. Philadelphia.

It was the best of times, it was the better of times. Or something like that. It’s been said that people either love the place they grew up in or they hate it. So many people spend so much time trying their hardest to “escape,” to get out and move on with their lives, because they don’t appreciate the place that raised them. While others are quite content to live and grow old in the place of their birth, around the people who have always been around and who will always be around.

I’m a bit different. I love where I grew up but I don’t still live there. Philadelphia is the most amazing city in the world. I was just there last weekend, and every time I go back it both reminds me why I love it, and why I still miss it so much. Of course I haven’t lived there since late 1998, a span of over 15 years, but it’s still a version of  “home” that I treasure more than almost any other place in the world.

There’s just something to be said about that Philly atmosphere, even though I’ve never had one of those famous cheesesteaks (it’s the first question I get asked whenever anyone finds out I’m from the city of Brotherly Love). I mean, that Philly vibe is one of the most unique I’ve ever been around. I liken it to being a fan of a football team. You might adore the team, but when it does something stupid you scratch your head and complain. It doesn’t mean you don’t still love the team. You’re just so invested that you feel a part of it, even when you have no say over it. Continue reading “Tale of Two Cities”

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Irish Pride

irish-flagThe first time I saw Ireland was through the tiny window of a giant airplane as we descended upon Dublin on a May day in 2003. It was our honeymoon, and we were aglow in the newness of the condition, then bombarded with the shock of the culture change that was about to hit us upon landing. I gripped my new bride’s hand in equal parts fear and anticipation, fear of the unknown and anticipation of the journey regardless. After all, it was Ireland.

I’ve always identified with all things Irish, since I was a wee lad. Honestly, my mother got awfully tired of me speaking in a poor excuse for an Irish accent (I’ve since gotten better at it) and wanting everything to be painted green. In fact, I had picked out the brightest green I could find and gotten my dad to paint my room that color. I was that committed to it, and I couldn’t have told you why it was Ireland and not somewhere else.

So, it was no wonder when I heard U2 for the first time on the radio and fell in love. Like with anything else I get interested in, I went overboard from the start. I quickly began doing research on the band, which was harder to do back then because the internet wasn’t as prevalent, so I went to the library. It was complicated work, but I was assured at the end of the inquiry that I knew all there was to know about the band, and by extension, about Ireland itself.

And I knew I had to get there someday. Somehow.

When I met my future wife, it was one of the first things we talked about, my obsession with all things Irish. I even joked about having been Irish in a previous life, and about the significance of my Irish last name. I knew she was humoring me, and I was grateful for it. At least she didn’t tell me to shut up. I also knew she was just as obsessed with all things British, so we would go back and forth on which culture was better. I still say it’s Irish, and perhaps our trip helped her to see things my way.

We touched down on Dublin soil after a seemingly endless plane ride, but I was finally there. In Ireland. I breathed in the air as we stepped off the plane, even though it was just recirculated airport air. It somehow felt different as I inhaled it, as if I were taking in the very essence of the Irish way of life. I would have knelt and kissed the floor had my wife not been with me. I didn’t want to embarrass her. That would come later. Continue reading “Irish Pride”

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You Call This a Shower?: Part 5

Riding the tram into Dublin.

So, remember that phone tree I told you about in an earlier installment? Well, when we got set up in that first hotel outside of Shannon I took a minute to call my wife who was the first branch of the tree, and she sent it on to the next person, and so forth and so on. However, unbeknownst to me there was a breakdown in the process after the fourth person was called. Of course what that meant was that all of the parents on the bottom part of the tree didn’t get the word that we were there safely. And they were incensed, but I knew nothing about it until that next day while we were on the bus heading to Limerick and Killarney. One of the students had gotten in contact with her mother who was lower on the phone tree, and she had gotten an earful about not letting anyone know she was safely there; then I got on the phone with her and received another earful.

And I could understand what she was saying. I too was frustrated by what happened on the tree, and I promised her something like that wouldn’t happen again. The only way I thought I could do it was to call her as the start of a second tree, effectively ending the first tree with the person who hadn’t called along. It was a pain, but I knew the most important thing was to make sure parents were informed or I would get another earful. It was the burden of being a leader. Like Spider-Man said, “With great power comes great responsibility,” or something like that. I was learning as I went. As our bus pulled away from Killarney in the wee hours of the morning on the third day, headed to Dublin, I was deep into planning our “free day” in the capital city, a place that had been one of my favorites during my honeymoon.

Three days without rain was more like it.

We were also starting to gel as a group, forming some inside jokes and being more relaxed with each other. Intermittently our tour guide would give us some information on some obscure facts and historical notes. He would also lead us in some rounds of songs. About halfway to Dublin we stopped at some ruins that were beyond amazing. It was a series of buildings in massive disrepair, but they were obviously old, and we took a bunch of pictures there. And get this: it hadn’t rained at all during the first three days of our Irish journey. It made me think of the old Enya album, A Day Without Rain, which was ironic because it rains nearly every day in Ireland, so yes, it was strange, but we were enjoying it immensely, being able to sightsee without that over our heads. Our tour guide told us we had only an hour in the ruins, so we took off in separate groups to explore. I went with one of my other chaperones and eight students to the ruins farther off and we took some amazing photos there. It was easily one of the highlights. Continue reading “You Call This a Shower?: Part 5”