Crystal and a Ball

WATERFORD--great fun. It felt like a truer Ireland than Dublin, but that is to be expected from a city. The Butler half-year kids (this includes me) went to Waterford on a weekend homestay. My homestay parents, George and Linda, were actually Scottish, but had lived in South Africa for most of their lives. They host students all the time, usually from Spain and Italy, and once from Saudi Arabia. They loved to talk about their previous homestay kids, and made sweeping generalizations about students from certain countries: The Spanish were very well-behaved and courtieous, the Italians are a piece of work, especially the girls (they had 14 and 16 year old girls in the house who would have a cup of coffee and a cigarette for breakfast). Extremely cool older people--George loves cooking and Coors, Linda keeps three cat with various ailments. One of the cats was born without its right hind leg, so she never really stands up unless she is very anxious to rub up against someone, and then she stood up like a three-legged stool. She is eternally cute. George and Linda's 23-year-old son lives with them, Chris, and Chris spins at the grunge/indie/punk club, Forum. The whole family tried to convince us to go, but unfortunately, we never made it up there.

The Vikings settled in Waterford before they settled anywhere else, making Waterford the first city in Ireland. We went to Regent's Tower, which used to be part of the city wall. Vikings constructed the building for defense purposes outside and in. Even the staircases were designed for warding off enemies: they build the ceilings low, so an intruder would have to duck his head and expose his neck if he wanted to get up the stairs; they build the stairs in a narrow clockwise spiral, so that a right-handed intruder couldn't swing his sword at all; they even though to build the stairs at different heights so that an intruder would stumble and fall. I know y'all aren't too into history, but I just thought that was so cool. Who knew Vikings were so clever?

Waterford's city center is very quaint. It's a big vacation destination for the Irish because it's so far south and close to the beach, and thus, the city center is essentially an outdoor shopping center. The Christmas lights were still up when we went, and there was an enormous carousel right in the center of everything. It felt a lot like Maine, for some reason. Maybe this feeling is left over from when I worked on the musical Carousel in high school.

Since every place is cheaper than Dublin, and Waterford is currently in its off-season, and the recession is still in full swing, I found incredible deals everywhere. I had been fixated on the fact that I didn't have properly sophisticated leathery boots for the city, nor did I have high heels I could ruin going out. I got both things for 35 euro in Waterford, along with a grey beaded top that makes me look like the Christler building.

Saturday evening most of the kids on my program went to Doolan's, the oldest pub in Waterford, to see some traditional Irish music. While we sat by the fire, this three man group played tons of old ballads and drinking songs, a few of which I'd heard the men's choruses in middle and high school perform in my youth. I enjoyed myself immensely for an hour and a half, and then the similarity between each song went from charming to obnoxious.

We tied up the weekend with a visit to the Waterford Crystal Factory. They weren't holding the factory tour, unfortunately, but the showroom was open, and jesus christ, I've never been so nervous to walk around a room before. Everything glimmering around me was extremely expensive and extremely delicate--I was sure I was going to trip and knock over a shelf of crystal, and that that shelf would hit another, and by domino effect, everything would be shattered, including the chandeliers miraculously. Luckily, this did not happen. I can't say that I ever want to own anything that nice--some of the larger vases were as much as a full college education--but it was interesting to see the place where they make the New Years Ball.

This week was RAG (raise a grand) Week at Trinity, which means all kinds of drinking-related fundraising. There was a three-legged pub crawl tuesday, a mystery tour Wednesday night (where they bring busloads of people some cool unknown place to drink), and the RAG Ball on Thursday. I went to two RAG events. The first was the Irish Club's screening of short films in Irish. Almost all of them were comedic and relied on the fact that barely any Irish people really speak their own language. One of the best ones was called _________, in which a Chinese youth decides to go to Ireland, and spends six months learning Gaelic, only to find that no one understands what he's saying.

The second event I attended was the RAG Ball. it took place in a three-level club, packed to the gills with Trinity students. There was a techno floor, a band floor, and a VIP floor. Very hot, very crowded, but fun, I from what I can remember. Trinity events are always a little bittersweet though, because they make me realize that I don't know ANY real Irish people yet, and I'm certainly not going to make any lasting friendships in noisy pubs and clubs. I suppose I should join a few clubs and societies, but maybe I'll just be lazy and rely on the people in my program for a good time.

Other than that, an uneventful week. I've been having a frustratingly drawn-out discussion with our landlord about installing wireless, but I think it's finally coming early next week, so I'll be able to update more often. Thanks to those of you who have been sticking it out.

And here's another installment of Irish observations:

--Most all of the bathroom doors are labelled "Ladies" and "Gents". I quite like it.

--The Irish, and the Brittish, are absolutely not squeamish about breasts, and nipples in particular. My flatmates and I were watching a public television station, and at 11:30 p.m., a girls-gone-wild type show came on, and it was boobs boobs boobs and more boobs, and even a penis or two. The newspaper fashion magazine, comparable to the New York Times Magazine, featured pictures of a topless woman in shorts and different pairs of high heels. There are boobs calendars in the front of the calendar display, as well as boob weekly logs. It's hillarious that a mostly staunch Catholic country is so into boobs.

--The Irish are also not squeamish about cursing. Irish children curse endlessly, and their parents just find it hillarious.

--Irish students are not into class participation. My tutorials started this week, and I was frustrated to find that no one would answer or entertain even the simplest prompt. I found myself speaking about a third of the time in my Postcolonial lit class because I knew the subject, but barely anyone would speak in my Irish lit class, and they're Irish! They've probably been taught Irish literature as much as Americans have been taught the Civil War.

Now I'm off to read all day long.