Blog 20: The Craic in Doolin

O'Brien's Tower

Blog 20: The Craic in Doolin

* No, I have not gotten involved in a European drug deal. “Craic” is an Irish slang for “good times” or “fun.” So the title could be translated to: Good times in Doolin. If anybody from Ireland is reading this (which I assume there are because of my demographics) I’m sorry if I’m using this word incorrectly/awkwardly!

Illegally at the edge of the cliffs...shhh don't tell!

            The Cliffs of Moher has become a natural theme park. I watch from higher ground as tourists swarm like bees from the parked tour buses. The silently majestic beauty is somewhat lost as hundreds of cameras begin flashing. I’m not sure if I would have been impressed with the Cliffs of Moher if I’d been among this mob. Luckily, my gaze had been fixated on this natural masterpiece for the past hour. When I first arrived at the cliffs, there wasn’t a tourist in sight. So I had time to take in the cliffs and all the beauty surrounding her by myself. There’s a wall that prevents people from getting too close to the edge of the cliff. I was feeling in a “rebellious” mood and hopped the wall to take in the view as dramatically as possible. Now I’m not saying you should be reckless, but every once in awhile it’s fun to spice life up with a little danger. The cliffs looked like a row of dominos from where I stood. Below waves crashed and gulls soared in kamikaze fashion. For a moment I wished I could trade places with one of these birds. If you ever have the opportunity to see the Cliffs of Moher, I recommend going before 9:30 am to beat the crowds. Your reward for waking up early is solidarity and peace while looking at those beautiful, dramatic cliffs.

Perfect reading location

            After admiring the cliffs and O’Brien's Tower, I hiked back down to Doolin. It took me about 3 hours (but I kept stopping along the way to stare at the breathtaking views). Along the way were herds of sheep, cows, and horses grazing in green pastures. I stopped at one unreal lookout to have a picnic (cheap sandwich) and read a book I brought with me. It was a lovely thirty minutes before I was chased away by looming clouds (typical Ireland).

Foolin in Doolin

            The town of Doolin was the perfect place to spend four days exploring the coast of County Clare. Out of all the places I’ve traveled to in the past five months, I felt most at home in places like Dingle and Doolin. It was a lot like the simple life we live on Maui. The special thing about Doolin though is that it used to be the mecca of traditional Irish music. Traditional Irish music flourished in this little town making it a little treasure for music lovers. Now tourists have ruined its authenticity but sometimes you get lucky with a good “session.” Luck seemed to be on my side because a popular local band, Foolin in Doolin, was playing the night I was in town. The small bar was packed with locals and tourists. An Austrian girl from my hostel and I were able to get a table up front. There were three musicians. The first was an older man with a flat cap and a face wrinkled probably from smiling too much. The second held a banjo and had stereotypical flaming red hair. And the last looked like he’d just finished filming Braveheart. He was tall and broad with wild, black hair that flowed to his shoulders. In his hand was Uilleann pipes (traditional Irish bagpipes) Together they were quite a sight. Irish music is usually jaunty and bouncy. It tempts you into tapping you foot along with the lightening fast rhythm. I like Irish music, but after awhile it sounds like one long continuous jig. The Austrian girl (a little hippy) however was getting really into it. She closed her eyes and started swaying while doing some crazy, yoga-like hand movements. Then an older woman started doing a jig along with the music. People started whooping and hollering. Observing all this craziness, I thought to myself “well this sure beats college dorm parties.” I’d say my stay in Doolin was quite the craic.

Blog 19: There’s a Silver Lining in Every Cloud

Views along the bike trek

The hike to Conor's Pass

 Blog 19: There’s a Silver Lining in Every Cloud

            My thighs felt like Jell-o as I tried to bike myself up the steepest hill yet on our 35km trek along the Dingle Peninsula. Maybe all that bread and olive oil I had gorged on in Spain was catching up to me. A sense of accomplishment passed through me when I finally made it to the top. But the elation quickly vanished. It was then that I realized that my bike had been in a high gear the WHOLE time (face palm moment). Of course my friend found this hilarious because we were only 5kms to the end of our journey. Maybe attempting a 35 km bike trek after a year of not stepping on a bike wasn’t the brightest idea.

Blasket Islands

            After exploring Dublin, I made my way to the wild, western coast of Ireland. Dingle, An Daingean in Irish, is a small town in County Kerry. Unfortunately this little town has been discovered by the tourist industry, but you can still find pockets of charm in the town despite the high number of foreigners. The hostel that I was staying in, The Hideout Hostel, was exactly what I had been hoping for. It was quaint, clean and felt more like a home than a hostel. But the best part about it was the people I met at the hostel. Looking back now, I was very lucky to have found such good company. One awesome person I met was an Austrian guy at my hostel who was also traveling alone. We ended up being travel buddies for the next few days. Our first adventure was a 35km bike trek along the Slea Head Drive (80km by car). It took us nine hours (only 3-4 hrs biking) but it was worth the extra effort. The Dingle Peninsula holds a rough, unpolished beauty. There were craggily cliffs, deep green fields dotted with grazing sheep, and the Blasket Islands spread out before you. Along the way we stopped at ancient stone houses called beehive huts, the Gallarus Oratory (a 1300 year old Christian church), and the Great Blasket Visitor Centre . Of the three of these, only the Great Blasket Visitor Centre was worth the entrance fee. The story of Blasket Islands is actually pretty remarkable. People lived on these windswept islands despite the extremely harsh living conditions. It was one of the few places in Ireland where Gaelic was still spoken and written. Although Irish students are required to spend several years in school learning Gaelic, many people never become fluent speakers. It sadly reminds me of the Hawaiian language because Gaelic was discouraged from being taught by the British for a long time and so the language was lost for many generations. The island was evacuated in 1953 because it became too difficult to live there but the story of the Blasket Islands lives on thanks to memoirs written by islanders. You can just see the hardship the islanders faced painted on their faces (there were many pictures in the visitors center). And you can also appreciate how deeply attached they were to their islands.

Living on the edge

            Of the entire journey, here’s my favorite moment. We stopped at this beautiful lookout on the side of the road where you have the view of Blasket Islands spread right out in front of you. There was a rain cloud looming overhead so we walked down the cliff, seeking shelter under a jutted out rock (the perfect Irish umbrella). There was this feeling of remoteness and peace as we waited for it to stop drizzling. No cars were in eyesight, and there was no more than five feet of rock separating us from a shear drop into the Atlantic. The only sound was the rhythmically crashing waves and the wind whistling past. Gulls soared along the cliffs, landing near us.  It was like time stopped and the busyness of life seemed to be miles away. Sometimes in today’s hectic, materialistic world it’s easy to forget to pause and enjoy the simple gifts life gives us like the company of a newfound friend, fresh air, or a patch of sunlight on a cloudy day.

Some cool solo travelers I met

            To my surprise, I felt a wave of sadness when I left the Dingle Peninsula. I’m not usually an emotional person, but traveling alone has been like riding an emotional rollercoaster. As a first time solo traveler, you’ll probably experience what I’m describing. You hit ultimate highs where you feel like life couldn’t get much better and then suddenly you hit rock bottom. The worse part is that there’s no emotional support from a companion when you’re going through these waves of feelings. But as my Austrian friend would have probably told me at that moment, there's a silver lining in every cloud. If I hadn’t been traveling alone I might have not gotten to know all the people that I did in Dingle. And as I caught my last glimpse of Dingle on the bus, I realized I have so many great memories of Dingle that I'm taking away with me.

Dingle Harbor

Blog 18: Jack Johnson in a Dublin Pub

Blog 18: Jack Johnson in a Dublin Pub

            *Sorry I’m falling behind on blogging so this will be a longer update.

            Let me share one of my favorite experiences abroad so far. So I was sitting at a pub in Dublin, having a Guinness with this French guy I met.  I happened to make eye contact with the young musician playing in the bar and he yelled out, asking me where I was from. When I told him I was from Hawai’i he gave me a grin and said, “Let me play you a Jack Johnson song then.” After spending the past four months away from home, it made me feel all warm and giddy hearing Jack Johnson. The easy breezy, oh so familiar lyrics whisked me back to home. For a moment I felt like I was in the car with my dad, driving out to Ukumehame for a surf. But no I was in an Irish pub in Dublin being serenaded…so I’m not complaining!

            I spent four days wandering in the lively city of Dublin. As soon as I stepped out of Dublin airport, I was blasted with crisp air. That’s the first thing I learned about Ireland. There’s no point to a weather report. One minute your sitting on a park bench drenched in sunlight then suddenly hail is falling from the sky. And it’s already May! It is no wonder Ireland is nicknamed the Emerald Isle because it rains almost everyday of the year. But despite the somewhat depressing weather, the Irish are the most friendly and downright hilarious people I’ve met. Playful banter and singing at the top of your lungs seems to be a national sport. Pubs in the Temple Bar area are jammed packed with people during the weekends. They are like typical bars expect they have more character and charm. There’s something very lovely about stepping out of the biting wind and into the warm belly of a pub. Everything is warmly lit and has a welcoming, rustic look. Friends gather in groups laughing and singing. And there are Guinness beers (basically all you drink in Ireland) all around. In nearly every pub there are musicians playing and singing so that the room is bursting with music! I have a special love for live music so I was in heaven. People clap, cheer, dance and sing along to their favorite Irish tunes. I felt like I was part of a huge family.

            Dublin is also the hub for Irish history. Ireland didn’t gain its independence from Great Britain until 1921. Then it suffered from a civil war after disagreements about being a free state with counties that are today known as Northern Ireland. During this time, Dublin became a battlefield. Many historic buildings in Dublin were taken by the rebels and the streets of Dublin were bombed. Irish heroes like Michael Collins were killed in order to give Ireland the freedom that it has today. It’s a very complicated history but every Irish person that I’ve met has had great pride in their country because of how hard and long they had to fight to achieve independence. 

But there is also immense beauty in Dublin despite an ugly past. One of my personal favorite sights in Dublin is Trinity College’s Old Library. As the most prestigious college in Ireland, Trinity College has a beautiful campus and one of the most gorgeous libraries I’ve seen. It also holds the Book of Kells, which is old Gaelic scriptures written by monastic monks about 1000 years ago. The preservation it takes to keep these books from turning into dust is impressive. The writing looked too perfect to be drawn by humans and I couldn’t help think how much patience it must have taken to inscribe these books. The words are beautifully drawn and crafted with intricate artwork that frames the words. It’s had the perfect blend of simplicity, since this is a religious text, and extravagance worth marveling over.  These drawings are so detailed that it looks like something only magic could produce. The Old Library at Trinity was equally mesmerizing. You enter and all the knowledge in the world seems to be surrounding you. There are millions of books filling the bookcases (there were two stories) and busts of the great philosophers, scientist and writers along the walkway. It was truly like being encased in a sea of knowledge. Apparently when George Lucas saw this library he was instantly inspired and tried to recreate this library in one of the scenes in Star Wars. I had to sit on a bench in the library for a moment while taking it all in. Ireland certainly knows how to seduce a girl.

Guinness!

Trinity College

Trinity College

Streets of Dublin

Blog 17: How Studying Abroad Changed Me

Blog 17: How Studying Abroad Changed Me

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”

― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

            I love this quote. I think it kind of summarizes why I decided to study abroad. This blog is very difficult to write. I can go on and on about a new country and all of my adventures, but how can I summarize a personal journey? The nostalgia is starting to creep in because I’m a week away from ending my program. However, this is only the beginning of the end. I’ll be traveling alone in Ireland for two weeks before meeting my family to travel with them in Spain and Italy. But I know a chapter has ended. I’m looking back at the girl standing terrified at Madrid airport and realizing that she is not the same girl writing this blog now. Ok, I haven’t completely changed. I’m still me, but I’m a stronger, more confident me. Sometimes trying to explain a personal journey is like trying to explain which came first, the chicken or the egg. But I’m going to try just because I think this is one of the best reasons why you should study abroad. So I’m taking a deep breath and jumping into the deep end of the pool.

Beautiful Maui sunrise

             I didn’t decide to study abroad because I wanted to. Of course it was something I wanted, but it was actually more like something I needed. For me, studying abroad did not mean my semester to party. Let me explain. My entire life up until now has revolved around Hawai’i. High school was not the highlight of my life to put it lightly. I’d spent those years plagued with low self-esteem. I was so introverted! And looking back I think my shyness got misinterpreted as being stuck up. It wasn’t until college that I finally flicked on the switch.  At first I was bitterly disappointed that I didn’t go to college in the “mainland” (aka the rest of the USA).  And even more disappointed that I wasn’t drowning in student loans (said nobody). But I slowly shaved away my insecurities and was so much happier. Next to studying in the mainland, studying abroad seemed like the next best thing. If I couldn’t live a five hour plane ride away from home in a place like Cali for four years, why not live half way around the world for half a year? I wanted to have a time in my life where I could completely strip away everything familiar and comfortable. But the idea of being alone without my family, friends, beaches, and palm trees in a place so far from home also terrified me more than excited me. Was I strong enough for this? But in the words of Columbus “you can never cross the ocean unless you have courage to lose sight of the shore.” So that’s what I did.

Plaza de España, Sevilla

            Cut to the present. I’ve seen and done things I never thought I’d have the courage to do. I’ve flown half away around the world by myself, sung karaoke in Spanish, stayed out until 8:30 in the morning, met friends from around the world through couchsurfing, rode a camel in the Sahara, jumped into the Atlantic ocean in Portugal, saw the power of religion during Semana Santa, and wore a flamenco dress during Feria. It hasn’t always been easy being on my own, but a lot of the harder times have become the most memorable and transformative. Spain has both captivated me and frustrated me, but that’s only natural when you’re thrown into a new, unfamiliar culture. I will forever love the Spanish for simply their love of life. I don’t know how to describe it… they just know how to live to fullest. Family, friends and good times are so much more important to them than money and prestige. There’s even a word in Spanish that describes the time after dinner where you talk story with your family and friends. But I will forever be unable to understand why people party until seven in the morning.  And WHY do they eat dinner sometime as late as 10pm at night?

            I think no matter where I travel or live in future, there will always be that small town, Maui girl in me. Studying abroad was one of the best decisions I made. I wanted to leave Hawai’i to escape my past, when in fact I needed to leave Hawai’i to embrace my past and grow from it.

*Taken from Pinterest

Blog 16: ¡Feria Loca! (Crazy Feria!)

 Blog 16: ¡Feria Loca! (Crazy Feria!)

            After traveling to Morocco and Portugal, I was completely worn out. I just wanted to crawl into a ball on my bed and sleep through my week off school. But this of course wasn’t an option. Spaniards have this huge, cultural fiesta called Feria de Abril (April Fair). If there’s one thing I learned during Feria, it’s that the Spanish know how to throw a good party. And it’s not just one crazy, fun filled night of shenanigans. It’s a week long, non-stop party! Everyone, from babies to eighty year olds are still out at midnight. So let me, to my best ability, describe the craziness that is Feria.

            If you want to see the Spanish culture at it’s best, you might want to come to Sevilla during Feria. Almost all women from Sevilla will wear trajes de flamenco (flamenco dresses), huge flores (flowers) in their hair, and equally large aretes (earrings). When you see a group of them together, it’s like seeing a mass of color coming at you. The trajes de flamenco can be extremely expensive (think about prom dress prices) and women take flamenco dress shopping seriously. The fashion seemed to be mermaid shaped cut with ruffles on the bottom. They have dresses in every shade of color and many have poka dots on them. If you can’t decide which color, no te preocupes (no worries!). I saw a couple dresses that looked like a walking rainbow. As for me, I got extremely lucky and my intercambio lent me one of her old dresses. So for a few days I was able to dress up like a Sevillana. I found the dress incredibly beautiful, but also heavy and hard to walk in since I needed to wear high heels so props to the ladies during Feria. Of course the guys had it much easier and most wore suits.

            The Feria festivities take place in a sectioned off area of the city. Half of Feria is filled with casetas and the other half is a carnival. The carnival side is a typical fair with games, rides, and a circus. But the caseta half of Feria is the unique part. Casetas are basically huge tents that look like a house on the inside. Most casetas have a cocina (kitchen), bar, and salón (lounge). The inside of each caseta is unique and beautifully decorated. There are chandeliers, lanterns, and paintings making some casetas look like they emerged straight of the pages of some home décor magazine. Here’s the crazy part, some families will take up to 2000 dollar loans just so they can have caseta. Told you Feria is crazy! But people can’t just waltz into any old caseta. Most casetas have a guest list and a guard is in the front making sure you’re on the list. So most casetas are private. But there are public casetas which turn into mini clubs late at night. I learned that Fería even has its own specialty bebida (drink). It’s called Rebujito and is a mix of Sprite and white wine (so good). And along with your normal dance music is traditional Sevillana dances that pretty much every Sevilla native knows by heart. I couldn’t partake in this dance, but it was so neat to watch the flashing dresses as the Sevillanas twirled around the dance floor.

Inside of a caseta

            The entrance way into Feria is called the portado and every year they design a new one (this year’s one is inspired by Plaza de España). The streets were lined with white and red lanterns and all this (the portado and the lanterns) are lit up at night. It’s so beautiful at night to see all the lights illuminate the streets of Feria. Finally there are horses and buggies all over the streets. I “risked my life” many a time trying to take a picture and almost getting run over by a horse. Overall Feria was a really unique, wonderful experience. I absolutely loved how passionate the people are and how hard they try to keep their culture alive.  If you want to see Sevilla pride run wild, come during Feria.

Funny bull ride in the carnival

Blog 15: Falling in love with Portugal!

Playa Doña Ana

Ponte de Piedade: Favorite scene of trip!

Blog 15: Falling in Love with Portugal

            I counted down in my head “One, two, three!” and lunged myself off the boat before I could second-guess my decision. My entire body, submerged in the water, went into shock. It was like I had landed in a tub of ice cubes or I was been pinched a hundred times. A few brave souls who had jumped with me were already flailing back to the boat. Survival instincts kicked in and I dashed over to the boat ladder, pushing one of my guy friends who had made it there first out of the way. (Sorry ladies first!) And so I learned that the ocean in Portugal and the ocean in Hawaii during spring are two very different things.

            But other than almost getting hypothermia in the Atlantic Ocean, I fell in love with Portugal. Everything about the trip was so rejuvenating and refreshing after months of deprivation of any sight of ocean. It’s a real shame most people don’t think much about Portugal when coming to Europe. I guess it’s hard competing with big leagues like Paris, London, and Rome. But Portugal really has a lot to offer (a lot of which I didn’t get to see on this trip since we only stayed in the South). As we were driving to Portugal (its only about 2 hours from Sevilla) I learned a little more about Portugal’s history.  This country’s history is very colorful due to its location on the Iberian Peninsula. Many different groups of people set foot and ruled in Portugal.  The Romans, Visigoths, the Moors, to name a few, all had their mark on Portugal. And Portugal had its moment of fame when it was the pioneer of the Age of Discovery during Prince Henry the Navigator’s rule. It was also the playground of pirates and so many seafront fortresses had to be built for protection. I really can’t blame anyone for trying to take over Portugal because it’s SO BEAUTIFUL. From the pictures you’ll see what I mean.

            But I absolutely loved Portugal and here is why I hope you will someday too. I stayed for a three-day weekend in the south of Portugal, called the Algarve famous for it’s sun-kissed beaches and aqua blue water. We had an apartment style room at our hotel, which could’ve comfortably fit five people. But my roommate and I were spoiled and had it all to ourselves. It had a gorgeous view of the ocean, a balcony, and best of all we could cook in a large kitchen. I usually don’t have much interest in cooking, but it was actually a lot of fun cooking healthy vegetable pastas and salads. We topped it off with a glass of red wine with a view of the sunset over the ocean. I was feeling very satisfied with life.

Cabo de San Vincente

            We went to several different beaches and lookouts in Portugal.  One of the lookouts, Cabo de San Vincente had a commanding presence. Waves crashed against sheer cliffs and the wind was whipping like crazy. This lookout was nicknamed “The End of the World” by the Romans because they believed that this was the edge of their “pancake” world. It’s hard to believe that there was a time that people thought you would drop right off the face of Earth once you sailed to the horizon. Doña Ana Beach was almost the opposite of Cabo de San Vincente. The water was tranquil and the wind had died to almost nothing. The rock formations and colors of this beach were what made it so special. The water almost looked like aqua blue dye had spilled into it. And cliffs framing the water almost were a vibrant golden color. I absolutely loved this beach and the island girl in me was very happy spending several hours lazing on the silk fine sand. It was so nice because it wasn’t flooded with tourists (*cough* Waikiki). And some people were kayaking around the cliffs, which looked like so much fun. The final stop was my favorite lookout and the city of Lagos. Ponte de Piedade was an absolutely stunning circle of cliffs that created a mermaid lagoon down below. You can climb up to the top of one of the cliffs and daringly look below or you can hike down to the lagoon. I loved this spot because it was so scenic and reminded me of what I might see in Italy (oh the Cinque Terre I can’t wait!). Finally Lagos was a cool almost hippy city with lots of cafes and restaurants to explore. I love how the white washed buildings mask how colorful the life in Portugal is. ¡Viva Portugal!

Favorite souvenir so far!

Keeping out those pirates: Lagos

Streets of Lagos

Blog 14: Shukran (Thank you) to the Wonderful Morocco! Part 2

Blog 14: Shukran (Thank you) to the Wonderful Morocco! Part 2

            There have only been a few moments when my breath has been taken away. Sitting on a sand dune watching the setting sun over the Sahara was definitely one of them. My heart was fluttering against the walls of my chest. My lungs could not seem to take in enough air. I couldn’t believe where I was and what I was seeing. But I’m getting ahead of myself aren’t I? Lets rewind.

            After leaving Fes, we continued our way south to the gateway of the Sahara. We stopped for a night in Erfoud and already I noticed a dramatic change in the geography. Not a cloud was in the sky. The land had flattened and now only a few bushes and lone trees were able to survive the harsh climate. At our hotel, I tried Moroccan food for the first time. There was couscous (steamed semolina aka wheat granules), tanjine (slow cooked chicken and vegetables) and Khobz (a thick, loaf Morrocan flatbread). I love the way Moroccan food is so hearty, healthy, and satisfying. My inner foodie was very, very happy as I gorged on my second loaf of Khobz. But if I had really wanted to ‘go Moroccan’, I should have ditched my fork and ate with my right hand. We also saw a beautiful carpet shop in the town of Rissani, which is near Erfoud. Weaving carpets is considered an art form in Morocco. The patterns and colors were so intricate and delicate. I loved what the shop owner told me. He said “here in Morocco we put our hearts into carpet weaving…it’s our art form.” I wish they weren’t so expensive (though they were rightfully priced) because I fell in love with them. How cool would that be to have a tiny Moroccan carpet in your dorm room? Well, then again I think I wouldn’t want people stepping on it…ever.

Sunrise over Algeria

            Finally we made our last trek to the Sahara. And we did it in style. We took 4x4 SUVs and drove through the terrain to the desert. Yes it was as epic as it sounds. Imagine staring out the window at the emerging sand dunes on the horizon. I felt like I was flying. We were driving maybe about 70mph with the driver literally weaving through brush and trees. He blasted Arabic music and at one point (of course he slowed the speed first)  he JUMPED out of the car and ran along side of us. It was crazy! Then three hours later we were suddenly we there. I had made it to the Sahara.

            We rode on camels for about an hour during the sunset to our tents in the middle of the Sahara. We were lead by local tour guides. Camels are much taller than I thought, and they move so that you are whipped back and forth. I felt like a yoyo and I’m not going to lie it was a little painful at times. But riding on a camel through the endless maze of sand dunes was like living in a dream. What shocked me the most about the Sahara dunes is the absolute peace and simple beauty it holds. Be silent and stare around you. The dunes rise and dip like the humps of the camels. The only sound is that of blowing sand. It was so surreal. As the sun began to set, we dismounted the camels to watch the sunset. I kicked off my shoes and buried my feet in the warm desert sand. I was sitting on a sand dune in a state of complete serenity, watching the sunset over the Sahara when I heard a noise. Our camel guide suddenly whips out a cell phone from his robes and we all stare at him like he just pulled out a grenade. And I’ll never forget his amused smile as he said to us “technology in the desert.” Only in the Sahara.

            That night, as we slept in tents in the desert, I saw the brightest, most beautiful stars and moon. They were as clear as a National Geographic Photo. I couldn’t help but think of the star of Bethlehem because they were so brightly painted against the canvas of black. That night our camel guides played on Moroccan drums and we danced around a bonfire. Writing about my trip now makes me realize how lucky I was to go on this incredible journey. I think the Sahara will be a memory I will hold close to my heart forever. Shukran Morocco!

This little guy is called a sand fish...and they eat them