Back to main index

Back to Julia's main page

May 30, 2007

"May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand."
- Irish blessing

My first glimpse of Ireland is lined by the small, drab casing of the airplane windowframe, and the sky is steely-gray and darkened by clouds– but there is little, I think, that can keep the Isle's legendary greenery from shining through. With my nose pressed up against the glass I can see fields, hedges, trees, shrubs – green, green, green, speckled by stone fences, houses, and roadways.

I pass through security, collect my baggage, and conduct my first transaction in Euros when I purchase a bus ticket for Galway City. Shannon Airport gives me my first impression of Ireland's smallness; it is strange to realize that though everything is written in English, everything is also ever-so-slightly different. Hearing the Irish accent for the first time is wonderful – like the first sighting of the country, it is beyond anything any guidebook or website can truly capture. And tourist traps or not, the posters for castles, Aran sweaters, and Claddaugh rings bring a smile to my face.

When I emerge from the airport, it is, of course, raining.  I'll become tired of rain, I'm sure (if my experience with snow in New England is to be any basis for judgment). But for now, it seems appropriate, maybe even perfect: I am being gently soaked in Ireland.

The bus ride from Shannon to Galway makes for the most exciting bus ride of my life. No sarcasm intended. All around me is green countryside, sheep, cows, winding roads, and cottages just like the pictures in calendars and postcards. The road signs are written in both English and Irish, and distances are written in kilometers. We drive through Clarecastle, Ennis, Gort – small towns and even smaller villages; single-street city centres; with pubs, Guinness signs – and surprisingly enough, Chinese takeaway shops – aplenty. Everything is strange and different and fantastically exciting; my mouth is wide open and I am the very picture of the gawking American tourist.

Reaching Galway heightens my exhilaration by yet another notch. So this is where I will spend the next three months! In my excitement the buildings and streets pass by in a blur, and the next thing I know I am stepping off the bus into the bus station, dropping a Euro into the single payphone (with directions written in clear English, it turns out to be an uncomplicated affair, I am slightly embarrassed to say), and calling Peter.

Meeting someone I'd only interacted with through phone calls and emails is a strange experience, too, but like everything else thus far exciting. We drive from the station to the Centre for Human Rights for a brief stop to drop off the car. Generally, this is slower than walking, Peter explains – like Cambridge, Galway is not a city made for driving. Through the window, I catch flashes of cobblestoned streets; colorful, narrow buildings, none more than a few stories high; a handful of signs in both English and Irish (street signs, I am soon to learn, are something of a rarity here – and I am terrible enough with directions! This will be an interesting challenge).

From here we head back into the city centre for lunch with three other members of the Centre faculty. My first Irish meal includes a hearty vegetable soup and thick brown bread – and bottled water, as Galway has been experiencing difficulties with its water supply for some weeks now.  The poor tourists, Peter jokes, – they hardly came to Ireland with the expectation of third-world conditions.

My first day in Ireland is a full one – surprisingly, the jet lag has yet to catch up with me! After lunch, Peter drops me off at the house I'll be occupying for the summer. I unpack, then head back to the Centre to begin work. My first assignment entails finding and outlining information on human rights at the management level, for a presentation to be given for sergeants in An Garda Siochana, the Irish national police.

In the evening, I meet some more of the Centre staff – including the other interns who will be here for the summer – at the city library, where one of the professors is giving a talk on the new face of human rights. I am invited for a cup of tea at some of the Centre Ph.D. students' apartment... bursts of Irish accents, the British version of The Apprentice, and a BBC news report on Iain Paisley, Jr.'s recent statement lambasting homosexuality, local election campaign posters on the wall (the Irish elections only ended a few days ago)... good times, good craic, though my body soon remembers that it is on California time! A brief stop at a grocery store to pick up supplies to ensure I'll at least have breakfast tomorrow, then home. My home for the next
three months.