Waiting for our ferry to Wales was the first time homesickness really began to hit me – I actually started counting down the days to going to home in my personal journal. My future homecoming was really more of a love-hate relationship throughout the trip: I would have been happy staying in Europe for weeks, months, even a year. Yet, I missed my mom, I missed the conveniences of home and the familiar, and I even missed Mexican food. My reflections also included: chagrin at not being able to stop at the Irish Writer’s Museum in Dublin, listening to Ms. Frankel describing the black-tie McDonald’s on Wall Street, replete with doorman and grand piano – I wish I had remembered to ask her if the prices were any higher, worrying about trying to visit my friend, college, and my poor laptop that died (well, technically, that I murdered on accident – I plead reckless endangerment, your honor) shortly before I left.
But we finally boarded the ferry and our trip to Wales began (and I also officially started missing the wonderful Irish breakfasts). This ferry was not the tugboat, everyone standing by the rails ferry. Indeed not – this ferry was reminiscent of a luxury ocean liner, stocked for a month long voyage. In addition to at least three restaurants on the foot passenger deck as well as a coffee shop and a bar, there was an arcade room and a movie theatre. There were at least seven other decks, though I am unaware of their exact purpose except for one must have been the car lot and at least one must have had private cabins, as they were advertised about the ship. Despite all of these attractions, I spent the trip having a snack and sleeping. While I was still conscious, I saw a huge wall of dense fog roll over the boat’s windows – and there the fog stayed until we were in the Welsh harbor. It was a little eerie, I must admit.
After a relatively uneventful journey of somewhere around four hours, we arrived in Wales, to a harbor jam packed with boats. After the luggage loading fiasco that became commonplace and introductions to our bus driver and guide, we jetted to a beautiful cottage-like restaurant by the sea. Just outside of the building, down steep cliff that ended in a breathtaking view of the seemingly endless ocean, stood a huge white lighthouse, which from all appearances was still functioning. My first impression of Wales was lovely countryside, good food, friendly people - what else can you ask for.
After lunch we spent the afternoon with our guide outside of Bangor (the nation’s capital). He was an exceedingly patriotic man and a professor at one of the Welsh universities, and informed us the Welsh are related to the Britons, not the Celts. He also shared extensive knowledge on the Welsh language, which is the oldest language in Europe still spoken:
Lian means church, and is usually followed by a saint’s names, used in the naming of places or cities
Welsh lacks the letters c, j, v, x (So no Chelsey, I am afraid), yet there is a total of 29 letters – including letters such as ll.
Welsh is also the national language in southern Argentina because of a colony there started by Welsh religious exiles.
Our first activity of the day was the Trefignath Burial Chambers, which consisted of three types of burial chambers common throughout the early history of the island. The first and simplest burial mound is from the Neolithic age, the second from the Bronze Age, and the third from the Iron Age. He explained how the chambers had progressed physically, and what this meant about the progression of the culture and religion that built them. He also explained the rather funny tales that Ireland’s patron, Saint Patrick, was from Wales, and the Welsh patron, Saint David, was from Ireland. Finally, I must admit that every time our guide – or any other Welsh male, for that matter – spoke, all I could hear was Sean Connery going, “Bond, James Bond.”
We hopped back on the bus to travel to Bangor and passed over a traditional bridge built of stone in the 1900s, versus the new suspension bridge built for today’s higher volume of traffic that was built parallel. Before we arrived in Bangor, we stopped in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
This town used to claim the world’s longest city name but that title was usurped by a South American city – however, that city has no railway station, and so the villagers are happy to proclaim their “world’s longest train station name” to tourists. The name means "The church of St. Mary in the hollow of white hazel trees near the rapid whirlpool by St. Tysilio's of the red cave".
Farther down the road, we saw the highest peak in Wales, The Snowdon or Snowdonia, the second highest in the UK behind a Scottish mountain, Ben Nevis. Our guide shared some local legends with us, including Druid legends and about this particular peak being the home of King Arthur, his court, and Merlin, all of whom supposedly still lie in wait on the mountain. It reminded how much myth and mystery are an integral part of the entire UK’s culture and literature, not just Ireland.
In any case, we finally arrived in Bangor and to our hostel, a rather imposing building that had all the promise of a horror-movie bloodbath backdrop. The inside was little more inviting, but the proprietor was an exceedingly interesting and helpful Australian woman who loved to travel and had actually been to Arizona, the Four Corners, and Joshua Tree Park in California (the first European I had met to have been to my home state). She shared she had moved to the UK about six years ago, lived in Scotland for about three and a half years, and moved to the Brighton, England area before moving to Wales – all of which she summarized as a “gypsy lifestyle.” All in all, the hostel was reasonable and safe, and more than likely a helpful experience if I return to Europe as a college student and am in need of cheap lodgings.
After some downtime in the hostel and FINALLY being able to call my mother, we took off to a local community center to meet the Full-On program volunteers, who were going to lead us in the rather ominous abseiling (or repelling) off Penrhyn castle the next morning. I had been dreading this activity since receiving our travel itinerary – I didn’t think I was going to be able to overcome my fears and repel, and I was tired from travel and time changes and didn’t think I would be able to put my all in the inspirational Full-On program. I was certainly in for a surprise – as soon as I stepped into the small gym and met the program members (young New Zealanders), I really listened to what they had to say about how you are in control of your reactions to people and situations. It was a very empowering night, and I truly think it changed me for the better. Also, I was more than ready to repel down a castle, I was excited for it!
The next morning came early of course, and we packed up our suitcases, had a light breakfast from anaticipation, and headed off to the castle. Before our climb up to the about 80 foot tower we were to repel off of, we strapped on our extensive gear and separated into smaller groups to be taken up the steep and winding staircase within the castle. We also got a little history: Lord Penrhyn built the castle from his shale mining fortune and hired his servants full-time (almost unheard of in that day), half of the time in the castle and half of it on the grounds, to avoid word of his wealth from spreading into nearby Bangor.
My group’s time to go to the top of the tower came, and after what seemed like endless waiting I was on the top of the tower strapped into various lines attached me to the castle and one of the gentlemen running the program. When he said lean back on the line, I did – then he said keep leaning until I was dangling off the edge with my center of gravity far into space. Needless to say we had a bit of a, discussion, but with his support (he must have been so tired of dealing with screaming girls by the end of the day), he finally got me off the edge of the castle and slowly repelling down. About 10 feet further, I had to again take a leap (or step) of faith into completely dangling by two bungee cords and sliding down to the ground. Time seemed to fly until I got to the ground, shaking but proud of my accomplishment. Another gentlemen from the group was unhooking us from the repelling apparatus, during lunch we learned he is one of the sons of the family who currently owns the castle, and actually grew up there. What a neat life!
http://fullonp2p.com/ <- More information on the Full On program.
And off to England!
Friday, July 31, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Ireland Part II: Dublin
Our guest stay family really made me hope that I received some of the heartwarming Irish hospitality through my heritage. I was really sad to leave their cozy cottage house, but I was also looking forward to all the other wonders of Ireland we were to experience.
After our stay in Cahersiveen, we took a small boat ride through the magnificent Lake of Killarney, in Co. Kerry, which actually consist of three lakes and two connecting rivers. We took our tour beginning at a castle on the south of the tour. A family-owned company provided the boats, small wooden contraptions that sat about eight delegates and a leader, and the guides, jovial and friendly Irishmen who worked at the Lakes, which are one of the few national parks in Ireland. During the trip through the waterscape, our extremely knowledgeable guide explained to us both the history and present day concerns of the park. Did I mention it was freezing cold and windy? We were visibly shivering – our guide was wearing a t-shirt.
He first informed us about the area itself: there are three lakes, the lower lake (the largest and deepest at 220 feet), the middle lake (of namesake size), and the upper lake (the smallest of the three). The three are connected by two shallow rivers, in some places as little as three or four feet of water, forcing us heavy passengers to abandon the boat and walk along the bank for stretches. The only way I can describe the beautiful natural gardens and forests that lined those wonderful rivers is a scene out of “The Secret Garden.” It looked as though no human foot had ever laid foot on the faintly defined paths that wound along, and though no human eye had ever seen the overhanging vines, twisting trees, no human ear had heard the sweet call of birds, heard the water rushing over the same smooth pebbles.
Our guide also shared that the park recently introduced sea eagles to try and bolster their dwindling population, and that they seemed to take to the region – they were just beginning to raise their first broods when we visited. Earlier in history, golden eagles used to roost on the “purple mountain,” but no longer can survive in the park. He also described the various fish in the lakes, how and when they were fished, etc. I unfortunately don’t know enough about either to have retained what he said. Another natural wonder the park boasts is one of the last natural oak forests in Ireland – most were destroyed as early as the Middle Ages for castle and fort building materials. Another interesting fact he shared was an explanation of why Irish lakes have their particular and mysterious black color – the peat bottoms. The last bit of information he shared with is was the history of the park – a wealthy family owned the park, and when only the father and his daughter were left, they donated the park and their beautiful residence on it (a quaint lakeside cottage) to the Irish government.
After we left the boats and cold lake-spray for the last time, we walked through an otherworldly field to a small Ramada and café where we enjoyed a tasty outdoor lunch before continuing our day with a horse-drawn jaunty car ride through the lovely Gap of Dunloe. Each cart sat four ambassadors rather uncomfortably, and the driver also stood in the small cart, which were pulled by surprisingly strong work horses of a special mixed breed for that particular purpose. Our horses’ name was Podge and our driver’s name escapes me at the moment, though I remember quite vividly not understanding a word he said, his Irish brogue was that strong. I am also relatively sure when he was speaking to other drivers, they were talking at least partly in Irish, which didn’t necessarily contribute to understanding them any better.
The path we drove on was rather treacherous for horse drawn carriage – the road we traveled on was barely wide enough for a car, much less a carriage with a car trying to pass, or a carriage and a car and bikers or walkers and all other manner of motorized vehicles. We were about the only groups taking the tour right then, but our driver informed us that during July and August about forty full-time drivers work in the Gap. We didn’t talk much on trip, being too busy to avoid being hit by the driver and his horse whip (!), not falling out, etc. A bit out of the blue, our driver told us about the life cycle of the local sheep population, pointing out the ages of different sheep we passed. One of the stranger things about some of the livestock we saw in Ireland – instead of tagging their ears or branding the animals, the farmers would spray-paint different color “x’s” on them to show ownership. It was a little odd to see half-pink or blue sheep running about.
After the ride, we stopped at a store/restaurant/pub where we took a bit of a breather and some pictures, then hopped on the coach to our Liffey River Valley hotel, right outside of Dublin. We had a slow night of “chillaxing,” according to Adam, in our hotel. In addition to that particular slang, younger Irish people have a distinct habit of using the work “like” differently than Americans, i.e.: “I’m like going to the mall,” versus “I’m going to the mall-like.”
After a lovely early-morning coach ride into Dublin through seemingly endless suburbs, we started our day in the near deserted city (8 a.m. on a Sunday morning) with a famous statue hunt. I loved seeing Dublin in all the stages of a day, weather and population-wise. Since it doesn’t get dark until after 11 p.m. there (a shock even for Phoenicians), it was busiest just when we left the city around 8 p.m.
One of the first statues we had to find was outside of Trinity University, founded in 1592, the oldest university in Ireland. Trinity is a top choice for me in continuing my education after ASU, and I was so thrilled to pass by it in the coach, much less be able to walk around in the central courtyard with its blue and gold clock, imposing and ancient stone buildings, quaint cobblestoned thoroughfares, perfectly groomed green grass, and sculptures seemingly frozen in time. When we passed underneath the main archway into the actual college grounds, I saw flyers for many school clubs and activities and dearly hoped I would be able to participate in them someday – the recently occurred Shakespeare festival sounded the most interesting. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to see some of the classrooms or talk to a professor or student.
Many of the remaining statues were in St. Steven’s Green, a lovely park at the end of Grafton Street. There were a few modern-art statues I liked very much, but we didn’t have enough time to see very many.
After the hunt, I really enjoyed the high-speed coach tour of Dublin, our guide was very friendly, interesting, and knowledgeable. I think it’s a national talent to be able to weave fascinating stories at any time or place, about any subject. However, whenever any Irish national mentioned England, the rebellion, or Northern Ireland, I felt a bit odd. Those subjects have a stigma attached to them unlike the American rebellion that is unfair. I honestly expected the Irish as a group to be more vocally bitter and hurt than they let on, and I think it’s a credit to their people that they can talk about it calmly in a historical context.
Also, the entire Ireland-England situation seems so longstanding and vitriolic that it cannot be solved, but I don’t think that is an acceptable attitude to take about any disagreement, from the petty to the international. I realize England was completely in the wrong by taking Ireland violently as a colony, and while I can understand the violent retaliation then and now, I do not condone either side. Continued reprisals by either, while they might accomplish a little in the short-run, are not equal in worth to the hurt and killed, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and children. It has been proved time and time again that te only way to lastingly solve any volatile situation permanently and with at least a fair compromise is with open communication and peaceful methods. If both sides of this disagreement can admit their mistakes and enter into negotiations without preconceived prejudices, I believe that England and Ireland can make real progress and eventually, with hard work and a shared determined spirit, come to a compromise satisfactory to both parties.
But back to the coach tour – we saw one of the largest continuous rows of Georgian houses in the world. This architecture is common on both the North and South sides of Dublin (separated by the Liffey River). The houses go for as much as 30 million Euros each, and their most stunning outdoor feature is their magnificently decorated doors! There are a couple of stories our guide recited for us on the origins of the brightly painted and distinct doors: first, the reason might have been that the drunk husbands coming home in pitch black night in the 1700’s (before street lights) kept stumbling into the wrong houses and beds, and/or at one point an English royal died and the Royal government ordered all subjects to paint their doors black to commemorate the occasion, but Ireland blatantly refused in the name of their long sought-after liberty.
Also on our tour, we passed through the beautiful Phoenix Park in the center of Dublin, which is twice the size of New York’s Central Park and five times the size of the largest park in London – obviously the Irish take their greenery very seriously, and with good reason. The park also contains a huge zoo which we couldn’t quite get a glimpse of, as many of the parks roads were blocked off due to a ongoing marathon. The Irish president’s house/mansion is in the park, and it is currently inhabited by Mary McAleese. The only other official that lives within the park is the American ambassador, supposedly illustrating the close relationship the two countries have from both being former English colonies and the subsequent bloody rebellions. As we continued on, we passed by the impressive St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the largest church in Ireland. Another fun site on the tour was the expansive Guinness plant and distribution center. According to our guide, only half of the million pints made a day are exported. She also explained that if you take a factory tour and make it up to the top of seven or eight stories, you receive a free pint. In addition, the Guinness Family doesn’t only own the factory, it owns almost 60 acres of land in Dublin, leased to various businesses and apartments/condos.
After the coach ride, we stopped at the Trinity College Museum of History and Archeology. The museum in vast so we only saw a tiny bit of it – the foyer had a beautiful decorated ceiling, and the whole building had beautiful hand-tiled floors and ornate staircases. In the lobby’s floor, all the astrological signs were represented in tile mosaics. Unfortunately, they do not allow photography. The museum houses various exhibits covering Ireland’s history from at least 1500 B.C. to the medieval times of kings, some of which we were able to see. There were many gold artifacts from the B.C.’s up to 1200, including rings and huge necklaces. In the exhibits from later times, the gold jewelry is artfully twisted and quite beautiful.
Later, after a wonderful dinner, we returned to Grafton Street, the Dublin equivalent to Rodeo Drive, for some serious free time and shopping. I first must mention how endlessly weird it was to see McDonald’s, Burger King, Starbucks, and Pizza Hut in that old-Europe city. There was also a Barbie store – it was Barbie themed and the clothes were real-size versions of Barbie clothes. Needless to say I skipped venturing into that particular establishment. At the end of the street is St. Steven’s Green Shopping Centre, a three-story, mall-like venue. I was really surprised at how many “American” stores were inside like Claire’s, and stores that were close equivalents to Spencer’s and Forever 21. But it was also very different from the traditional Phoenix mall, at least – its top floor was a legitimate art gallery and was very fancy in decoration, including white wrought-iron gates around each floor. Its food court was laid out over three stories at one end of the circular mall instead of taking up the first floor. Also, it had an in-mall piercing and tattooing parlor.
I was ever so disappointed when we had to leave Dublin, but I am firm in my belief I will return here soon. After being in Ireland for some time, I began to realize it is a country of contradictions, which made me feel a lot better, being a person of contradictions on everything from musical taste to career aspirations. Onward to Wales!
After our stay in Cahersiveen, we took a small boat ride through the magnificent Lake of Killarney, in Co. Kerry, which actually consist of three lakes and two connecting rivers. We took our tour beginning at a castle on the south of the tour. A family-owned company provided the boats, small wooden contraptions that sat about eight delegates and a leader, and the guides, jovial and friendly Irishmen who worked at the Lakes, which are one of the few national parks in Ireland. During the trip through the waterscape, our extremely knowledgeable guide explained to us both the history and present day concerns of the park. Did I mention it was freezing cold and windy? We were visibly shivering – our guide was wearing a t-shirt.
He first informed us about the area itself: there are three lakes, the lower lake (the largest and deepest at 220 feet), the middle lake (of namesake size), and the upper lake (the smallest of the three). The three are connected by two shallow rivers, in some places as little as three or four feet of water, forcing us heavy passengers to abandon the boat and walk along the bank for stretches. The only way I can describe the beautiful natural gardens and forests that lined those wonderful rivers is a scene out of “The Secret Garden.” It looked as though no human foot had ever laid foot on the faintly defined paths that wound along, and though no human eye had ever seen the overhanging vines, twisting trees, no human ear had heard the sweet call of birds, heard the water rushing over the same smooth pebbles.
Our guide also shared that the park recently introduced sea eagles to try and bolster their dwindling population, and that they seemed to take to the region – they were just beginning to raise their first broods when we visited. Earlier in history, golden eagles used to roost on the “purple mountain,” but no longer can survive in the park. He also described the various fish in the lakes, how and when they were fished, etc. I unfortunately don’t know enough about either to have retained what he said. Another natural wonder the park boasts is one of the last natural oak forests in Ireland – most were destroyed as early as the Middle Ages for castle and fort building materials. Another interesting fact he shared was an explanation of why Irish lakes have their particular and mysterious black color – the peat bottoms. The last bit of information he shared with is was the history of the park – a wealthy family owned the park, and when only the father and his daughter were left, they donated the park and their beautiful residence on it (a quaint lakeside cottage) to the Irish government.
After we left the boats and cold lake-spray for the last time, we walked through an otherworldly field to a small Ramada and café where we enjoyed a tasty outdoor lunch before continuing our day with a horse-drawn jaunty car ride through the lovely Gap of Dunloe. Each cart sat four ambassadors rather uncomfortably, and the driver also stood in the small cart, which were pulled by surprisingly strong work horses of a special mixed breed for that particular purpose. Our horses’ name was Podge and our driver’s name escapes me at the moment, though I remember quite vividly not understanding a word he said, his Irish brogue was that strong. I am also relatively sure when he was speaking to other drivers, they were talking at least partly in Irish, which didn’t necessarily contribute to understanding them any better.
The path we drove on was rather treacherous for horse drawn carriage – the road we traveled on was barely wide enough for a car, much less a carriage with a car trying to pass, or a carriage and a car and bikers or walkers and all other manner of motorized vehicles. We were about the only groups taking the tour right then, but our driver informed us that during July and August about forty full-time drivers work in the Gap. We didn’t talk much on trip, being too busy to avoid being hit by the driver and his horse whip (!), not falling out, etc. A bit out of the blue, our driver told us about the life cycle of the local sheep population, pointing out the ages of different sheep we passed. One of the stranger things about some of the livestock we saw in Ireland – instead of tagging their ears or branding the animals, the farmers would spray-paint different color “x’s” on them to show ownership. It was a little odd to see half-pink or blue sheep running about.
After the ride, we stopped at a store/restaurant/pub where we took a bit of a breather and some pictures, then hopped on the coach to our Liffey River Valley hotel, right outside of Dublin. We had a slow night of “chillaxing,” according to Adam, in our hotel. In addition to that particular slang, younger Irish people have a distinct habit of using the work “like” differently than Americans, i.e.: “I’m like going to the mall,” versus “I’m going to the mall-like.”
After a lovely early-morning coach ride into Dublin through seemingly endless suburbs, we started our day in the near deserted city (8 a.m. on a Sunday morning) with a famous statue hunt. I loved seeing Dublin in all the stages of a day, weather and population-wise. Since it doesn’t get dark until after 11 p.m. there (a shock even for Phoenicians), it was busiest just when we left the city around 8 p.m.
One of the first statues we had to find was outside of Trinity University, founded in 1592, the oldest university in Ireland. Trinity is a top choice for me in continuing my education after ASU, and I was so thrilled to pass by it in the coach, much less be able to walk around in the central courtyard with its blue and gold clock, imposing and ancient stone buildings, quaint cobblestoned thoroughfares, perfectly groomed green grass, and sculptures seemingly frozen in time. When we passed underneath the main archway into the actual college grounds, I saw flyers for many school clubs and activities and dearly hoped I would be able to participate in them someday – the recently occurred Shakespeare festival sounded the most interesting. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to see some of the classrooms or talk to a professor or student.
Many of the remaining statues were in St. Steven’s Green, a lovely park at the end of Grafton Street. There were a few modern-art statues I liked very much, but we didn’t have enough time to see very many.
After the hunt, I really enjoyed the high-speed coach tour of Dublin, our guide was very friendly, interesting, and knowledgeable. I think it’s a national talent to be able to weave fascinating stories at any time or place, about any subject. However, whenever any Irish national mentioned England, the rebellion, or Northern Ireland, I felt a bit odd. Those subjects have a stigma attached to them unlike the American rebellion that is unfair. I honestly expected the Irish as a group to be more vocally bitter and hurt than they let on, and I think it’s a credit to their people that they can talk about it calmly in a historical context.
Also, the entire Ireland-England situation seems so longstanding and vitriolic that it cannot be solved, but I don’t think that is an acceptable attitude to take about any disagreement, from the petty to the international. I realize England was completely in the wrong by taking Ireland violently as a colony, and while I can understand the violent retaliation then and now, I do not condone either side. Continued reprisals by either, while they might accomplish a little in the short-run, are not equal in worth to the hurt and killed, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and children. It has been proved time and time again that te only way to lastingly solve any volatile situation permanently and with at least a fair compromise is with open communication and peaceful methods. If both sides of this disagreement can admit their mistakes and enter into negotiations without preconceived prejudices, I believe that England and Ireland can make real progress and eventually, with hard work and a shared determined spirit, come to a compromise satisfactory to both parties.
But back to the coach tour – we saw one of the largest continuous rows of Georgian houses in the world. This architecture is common on both the North and South sides of Dublin (separated by the Liffey River). The houses go for as much as 30 million Euros each, and their most stunning outdoor feature is their magnificently decorated doors! There are a couple of stories our guide recited for us on the origins of the brightly painted and distinct doors: first, the reason might have been that the drunk husbands coming home in pitch black night in the 1700’s (before street lights) kept stumbling into the wrong houses and beds, and/or at one point an English royal died and the Royal government ordered all subjects to paint their doors black to commemorate the occasion, but Ireland blatantly refused in the name of their long sought-after liberty.
Also on our tour, we passed through the beautiful Phoenix Park in the center of Dublin, which is twice the size of New York’s Central Park and five times the size of the largest park in London – obviously the Irish take their greenery very seriously, and with good reason. The park also contains a huge zoo which we couldn’t quite get a glimpse of, as many of the parks roads were blocked off due to a ongoing marathon. The Irish president’s house/mansion is in the park, and it is currently inhabited by Mary McAleese. The only other official that lives within the park is the American ambassador, supposedly illustrating the close relationship the two countries have from both being former English colonies and the subsequent bloody rebellions. As we continued on, we passed by the impressive St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the largest church in Ireland. Another fun site on the tour was the expansive Guinness plant and distribution center. According to our guide, only half of the million pints made a day are exported. She also explained that if you take a factory tour and make it up to the top of seven or eight stories, you receive a free pint. In addition, the Guinness Family doesn’t only own the factory, it owns almost 60 acres of land in Dublin, leased to various businesses and apartments/condos.
After the coach ride, we stopped at the Trinity College Museum of History and Archeology. The museum in vast so we only saw a tiny bit of it – the foyer had a beautiful decorated ceiling, and the whole building had beautiful hand-tiled floors and ornate staircases. In the lobby’s floor, all the astrological signs were represented in tile mosaics. Unfortunately, they do not allow photography. The museum houses various exhibits covering Ireland’s history from at least 1500 B.C. to the medieval times of kings, some of which we were able to see. There were many gold artifacts from the B.C.’s up to 1200, including rings and huge necklaces. In the exhibits from later times, the gold jewelry is artfully twisted and quite beautiful.
Later, after a wonderful dinner, we returned to Grafton Street, the Dublin equivalent to Rodeo Drive, for some serious free time and shopping. I first must mention how endlessly weird it was to see McDonald’s, Burger King, Starbucks, and Pizza Hut in that old-Europe city. There was also a Barbie store – it was Barbie themed and the clothes were real-size versions of Barbie clothes. Needless to say I skipped venturing into that particular establishment. At the end of the street is St. Steven’s Green Shopping Centre, a three-story, mall-like venue. I was really surprised at how many “American” stores were inside like Claire’s, and stores that were close equivalents to Spencer’s and Forever 21. But it was also very different from the traditional Phoenix mall, at least – its top floor was a legitimate art gallery and was very fancy in decoration, including white wrought-iron gates around each floor. Its food court was laid out over three stories at one end of the circular mall instead of taking up the first floor. Also, it had an in-mall piercing and tattooing parlor.
I was ever so disappointed when we had to leave Dublin, but I am firm in my belief I will return here soon. After being in Ireland for some time, I began to realize it is a country of contradictions, which made me feel a lot better, being a person of contradictions on everything from musical taste to career aspirations. Onward to Wales!
Monday, July 6, 2009
IRELAND: Part I - Cahersiveen
“And I ask you friend, what's a fella to do?
'Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue
So I took her hand, and I gave her a twirl
And I lost my heart to a Galway Girl
So when I woke up I was all alone
With a broken heart and a ticket home
And I ask you friend, what would you do?
If her hair was black and her eyes were blue
See I've travelled around, I've been all over the world
Boys -
I've never seen nothing like a Galway girl”
-From “Galway Girl”
Link to Steve Earle/Sharon Shannon’s version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFlfSeh-Ts8
It seems a bit strange that I would begin this half-cocked narrative of my European adventure with the country that captivated my mind the most, and yet holds my soul hostage until I feel like screaming for relief from these bleached-blue desert skies, murky mountains and unbearably beige cities.
I know not where to begin on how I feel about Eire, the Emerald Isle (which is no casual nickname), a land that simply exudes mystery and muse - Ireland. Where the grass grows so green not because the almost-constant rain that roots you to the spot admiring the simple beauty of the drops breaking the black glass surface of the innumerable lakes, but because of the crimson Irish blood spilled over the centuries defending that very land.
While in the midst of such beauty, I couldn’t help but get the gut feeling that staying here for any length of time in the future could lead to beautiful writing – there is an element of mystery that blankets the land like the clouds do – it’s not something you see, and maybe not everyone felt it, but I could instantly understand why Ireland is a land of superstition, curses, fairies and leprechauns. I know it sounds silly, but were any mythical creatures to walk over a crest of a hill in Ireland, they would seem at home there.
We started our adventure in Shannon, Co. Clare, at the airport. My first vision of Eire (Ireland in Irish), however, was from the plane window. All the complaining about waiting at airports and six hour plane trips was for naught – eighteen years of waiting is nothing compared to seeing the first tip of craggy green cut the endless ocean after dipping beneath the fast-moving clouds. I could spend pages and books describing the awe you feel at your first glimpse of that Isle, but you really need to see it in person to understand something that seems like it could only be a posed picture on a postcard is a complete reality.
Once on the ground, I couldn’t help but feel my spirits soar at arriving in the land of my father’s family – andf mine, too. I’m not sure which I noticed first: the mesmerizing and adorable Irish accents or the long-heralded Irish hospitality. Coming from sterile-in-comparison Sky Harbor at around 5 AM, all the employees were polite at best – here, everyone was ready with a smile, wink, fun comment, good morning, did you need any assistance, etc. We soon met our delegation manager, Adam – DM’s are residents of one of the countries the delegation visits and is responsible for the delegate’s and leader’s transportation, meals, activities, and accommodations on a day-to-day basis. It’s a tough job, to put it very mildly. And being a mostly girl delegation (7 boys and 35 girls) poor Adam was constantly attacked for pictures, etc., but knowing there’s someone with Europe knowledge making sure you’re okay is very reassuring, and he turned out to be quite a bit of craic (Irish for fun). He is a student at the University in Cork.
From the airport we got on our first coach (of many) to travel into the Ring of Kerry and our first attraction, the Bunratty Castle, complete with Renaissance Fair-like village representing the different types of homes in rural Ireland in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. One thing you have to get used to in Ireland and to some degree the UK, is your constant proximity to castles. Bunratty was the first real castle I had ever set foot in, but locals are completely desensitized to the notion castles appear only in fairy tales. The Castle itself stands between two rivers, part of the reason it had not been destroyed in one of Ireland’s many wars. It was built by the MacNamara’s in 1500’s and was taken shortly thereafter by the powerful O’Brien clan. We toured the inside of the castle, which contained many priceless tapestries and the restored great room, showing the positions of the earl of the castle, his court, and his army. We also climbed one of the towers on amazingly narrow and short stairs that seem to wind up forever and ever. We learned that castle stairs always wind upwards to the left – if you are attacking from beneath (presumably after breaking into the castle) your sword hand is blocked by the wall. Conversely if you are coming from above to defend, you have a free range of sword motion. After taking the beautiful castle, gift shop, and doing some people watching (many Irish and English school groups were visiting the castle that day, as well as guided tours for retirees from France, and I also thought I heard some German speakers and a couple speaking some Scandinavian language), we returned to the coach for the beautiful drive to Cahersiveen (pronounced Car-sigh-veen), Co. Kerry, in the breathtaking Ring of Kerry (it’s advertised as the best scenic drive in Europe, I wholeheartedly agree), where we would be staying for the next couple of days.
We first had an introduction to Ireland (one thing I learned was Ireland has 32 counties), the culture, Cahersiveen, and Irish. We also had a scavenger hunt around the town to learn the landmarks and be able to interact a little with the locals by asking them directions. When we were walking around on our scavenger hunt, we went into the Daniel O’Connell church in the center of town – it’s so beautiful and has such a calming and comforting air about, as do all churches. We were then dropped off at our Irish guest houses, basically bed and breakfasts in regular houses run by the nicest couples in the world. Our guest house – the Strand’s End House - was run by Joan, the sweetest mom-ish lady who made us tea and scones and every other little thing that made us feel at home.
The next morning we went out bright and early to cut peat, but not before a traditional Irish breakfast, which includes: two kinds of bacon, a slice of ham, two kinds of sausage, two kinds of meat pudding (one light and one blood pudding), fruit salad, yogurt, pancakes, two types of rolls, coffee or tea, and orange juice. I couldn’t eat that much for dinner, but it was fun to be able to try a bit of everything, and of course it was absolutely delicious. I’m not much for hot breakfasts when at home, but they’re certainly a necessity before facing Ireland’s morning temperatures. But back to the peat digging, which resident peat cutter John kindly showed us how to do. Just for the record, peat is highly compressed organic matter, the precursor to coal and eventually diamonds – in appearance, it’s somewhere between mud and petrified wood. Basically, you have a shovel-like tool, but the metal part is skinnier and much more curved in that you stick into the edge of the peat “shelf” you’re standing on, push the shovel part all the way into the peat, and pull out towards you, getting a nice brick, about a foot and a half long. You throw the brick onto the level above you (about three feet up), where it breaks into a few smaller pieces that you spread around to dry out. After about two weeks (factoring in the almost-constant rain), the peat will have dried and can be packaged and sold. I enjoyed the digging because the scenery was beautiful especially early in the morning and the work had a kind of quiet rhythm that seemed quite in tune with nature. Also, the particular batch we helped dig was going to the elderly in Cahersiveen. While we out in the more rural area, we visited a ringfort, and ancient dwelling where two small stone houses were built surrounded by a ring-shaped wall. Inside the compound, a tunnel led from the fort down to the bay about a mile away for quick escape from warring clans. It’s amazing that something that old is still intact – a feeling I also get when seeing a picture of Stonehenge or the like, and the view was breathtaking from the top of the hill the fort is built on (as well as insanely windy). The view from that hill made me understand a little more why ancient Ireland was a land of warring clans – I could certainly see why people would be extremely protective of land this pristine.
Next up, we returned into town to be split into three groups: one to the local hospital to prepare meals, one to the town park to pull weeds, and the last to the Cahersiveen Youth group to help them brainstorm team building exercises for their fall groups. I was part of the third group, and very much enjoyed the company of the Youth group leaders and thought the games were fun if childish. The one that stays vivid in my mind was not so much a game as a small assignment they gave us after breaking us into groups of about four – we were to come up with the top three rules for keeping order if stranded on a desert island. Our answers were common sense: fairness of tasks, sharing items equally, respect, truthfulness, and open communication. For whatever reason, it really struck me that these simple rules apply exactly the same to any society, from four people on an island to billions of people across Europe or the hundred millions in the United States.
After our volunteer work we ventured over to a local playing field to learn Gaelic football, but the reality of Irish weather soon set in and we were soaked through in about fifteen minutes of kicking the ball around and learning a few serving types. While the more wetness and temperature squeamish like myself took to the covered benches, the very nice young men from the local football association demonstrated a game for us, and the more hardy of the group played another game.
A few rules I somehow picked up: You serve with the heel of your hand (a la volleyball) or kickball style. You can “bounce” while running down the field, equivalent of dribbling, can have no more than one in a row. Soloing is bouncing the ball off the top of your foot while running down the field. When scoring, you receive one point for hitting it above the goal bar with a hand serve, three points for kicking it in the goal.
On a similar note, it seemed to me the Irish are very serious about sports, like Americans. We listened to the Gaelic football game between Cork and Kerry on the coach ride to Dublin, and the coach driver (Kerry) and Adam (Cork) had some very fiery words to say about the game and each other – though all in good fun, of course.
When the rain finally let up to a drizzle, we hurried off back to the town’s main drag to take a quick scenic hike up the hills behind the town. On the way we saw some of the grander houses built gin the town, a lot of the beautiful local flora and fauna, as well as the spot Sigerson Clifford composed his famous song, The Boys of Bar Na Sraide:
Oh, the road that lines the mountains and looks down o'er the sea,In my waking hours or dreaming, it's there I long to be.To meet again those friends I knew when first I came a manWith the boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
Oh, with cudgels stout we roamed about for to hunt the grey drolin.We searched 'neath every hawthorn bush from Litir to Duneen.We jumped for joy beneath the sky, life held no print or plan,Oh, we boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And when the hills of Kerry were bleeding and the rifles were ablazeTo the rebel homes of Kerry the Saxon stranger cameBut the boys who dared the Auxies and who fought the Black & TansWere once boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And they are far across the sea where they have gone to stayDeep in the heart of London town or over on BroadwayAnd I am left to sing their deeds and to praise them while I can,Those boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
Oh, here's a health to them tonight, those boys that fought with meFrom the groves 'round Callan River to the slopes of Mi na TiCon Dalton and Bat Andy and the Sheehans Con and Dan,The boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And when the wheel of life runs down and death comes over me,Just lay me down in those green fields between the hill and sea.Just lay me down in those green fields where first I came a manWith the boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
A little explanation of some of the things mentioned in the song:
The boys of bar na sraide = boys from the top of the street, i.e. the neighborhood boys.Litir, Duneen = Co. Kerry place names.Auxies, Black & Tans = auxilliary British soldiers.Callan River, Mi na Ti = geographical features.
It’s a beautiful song, but even more touching when you’re in the midst of an Irish forest remembering how those men fought to save everything that was dear to them. Further on the trail, we walked to a statue of Daniel O’Connell, the nineteenth century Irish Politician and campaigner for Irish freedom. He was the first Catholic allowed in the House of Commons and was finally able to repeal Union Act of 1801 with peaceful means, starting the Irish down the path to emancipation from Britain.
Our final stop that night was an Irish ceili (or dance), one of my favorite things we did while in Ireland. A full traditional Irish band played for us, and everything they played was beautiful and captivating. The acoustic guitar player was also a vocalist and sang “Galway Girl,” the song I opened this blog with because I thought it was so pretty and passionate. They also, and much to their credit, attempted to teach us three fast-paced and fun Irish dances: Shoo-the-donkey, a waltz, and a couples dance, ‘the Archway.” While I’m not much of a dancer, I had an absolute blast.
Link to my Ireland photos:
http://s755.photobucket.com/albums/xx198/cheath44/IRELAND/
'Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue
So I took her hand, and I gave her a twirl
And I lost my heart to a Galway Girl
So when I woke up I was all alone
With a broken heart and a ticket home
And I ask you friend, what would you do?
If her hair was black and her eyes were blue
See I've travelled around, I've been all over the world
Boys -
I've never seen nothing like a Galway girl”
-From “Galway Girl”
Link to Steve Earle/Sharon Shannon’s version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFlfSeh-Ts8
It seems a bit strange that I would begin this half-cocked narrative of my European adventure with the country that captivated my mind the most, and yet holds my soul hostage until I feel like screaming for relief from these bleached-blue desert skies, murky mountains and unbearably beige cities.
I know not where to begin on how I feel about Eire, the Emerald Isle (which is no casual nickname), a land that simply exudes mystery and muse - Ireland. Where the grass grows so green not because the almost-constant rain that roots you to the spot admiring the simple beauty of the drops breaking the black glass surface of the innumerable lakes, but because of the crimson Irish blood spilled over the centuries defending that very land.
While in the midst of such beauty, I couldn’t help but get the gut feeling that staying here for any length of time in the future could lead to beautiful writing – there is an element of mystery that blankets the land like the clouds do – it’s not something you see, and maybe not everyone felt it, but I could instantly understand why Ireland is a land of superstition, curses, fairies and leprechauns. I know it sounds silly, but were any mythical creatures to walk over a crest of a hill in Ireland, they would seem at home there.
We started our adventure in Shannon, Co. Clare, at the airport. My first vision of Eire (Ireland in Irish), however, was from the plane window. All the complaining about waiting at airports and six hour plane trips was for naught – eighteen years of waiting is nothing compared to seeing the first tip of craggy green cut the endless ocean after dipping beneath the fast-moving clouds. I could spend pages and books describing the awe you feel at your first glimpse of that Isle, but you really need to see it in person to understand something that seems like it could only be a posed picture on a postcard is a complete reality.
Once on the ground, I couldn’t help but feel my spirits soar at arriving in the land of my father’s family – andf mine, too. I’m not sure which I noticed first: the mesmerizing and adorable Irish accents or the long-heralded Irish hospitality. Coming from sterile-in-comparison Sky Harbor at around 5 AM, all the employees were polite at best – here, everyone was ready with a smile, wink, fun comment, good morning, did you need any assistance, etc. We soon met our delegation manager, Adam – DM’s are residents of one of the countries the delegation visits and is responsible for the delegate’s and leader’s transportation, meals, activities, and accommodations on a day-to-day basis. It’s a tough job, to put it very mildly. And being a mostly girl delegation (7 boys and 35 girls) poor Adam was constantly attacked for pictures, etc., but knowing there’s someone with Europe knowledge making sure you’re okay is very reassuring, and he turned out to be quite a bit of craic (Irish for fun). He is a student at the University in Cork.
From the airport we got on our first coach (of many) to travel into the Ring of Kerry and our first attraction, the Bunratty Castle, complete with Renaissance Fair-like village representing the different types of homes in rural Ireland in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. One thing you have to get used to in Ireland and to some degree the UK, is your constant proximity to castles. Bunratty was the first real castle I had ever set foot in, but locals are completely desensitized to the notion castles appear only in fairy tales. The Castle itself stands between two rivers, part of the reason it had not been destroyed in one of Ireland’s many wars. It was built by the MacNamara’s in 1500’s and was taken shortly thereafter by the powerful O’Brien clan. We toured the inside of the castle, which contained many priceless tapestries and the restored great room, showing the positions of the earl of the castle, his court, and his army. We also climbed one of the towers on amazingly narrow and short stairs that seem to wind up forever and ever. We learned that castle stairs always wind upwards to the left – if you are attacking from beneath (presumably after breaking into the castle) your sword hand is blocked by the wall. Conversely if you are coming from above to defend, you have a free range of sword motion. After taking the beautiful castle, gift shop, and doing some people watching (many Irish and English school groups were visiting the castle that day, as well as guided tours for retirees from France, and I also thought I heard some German speakers and a couple speaking some Scandinavian language), we returned to the coach for the beautiful drive to Cahersiveen (pronounced Car-sigh-veen), Co. Kerry, in the breathtaking Ring of Kerry (it’s advertised as the best scenic drive in Europe, I wholeheartedly agree), where we would be staying for the next couple of days.
We first had an introduction to Ireland (one thing I learned was Ireland has 32 counties), the culture, Cahersiveen, and Irish. We also had a scavenger hunt around the town to learn the landmarks and be able to interact a little with the locals by asking them directions. When we were walking around on our scavenger hunt, we went into the Daniel O’Connell church in the center of town – it’s so beautiful and has such a calming and comforting air about, as do all churches. We were then dropped off at our Irish guest houses, basically bed and breakfasts in regular houses run by the nicest couples in the world. Our guest house – the Strand’s End House - was run by Joan, the sweetest mom-ish lady who made us tea and scones and every other little thing that made us feel at home.
The next morning we went out bright and early to cut peat, but not before a traditional Irish breakfast, which includes: two kinds of bacon, a slice of ham, two kinds of sausage, two kinds of meat pudding (one light and one blood pudding), fruit salad, yogurt, pancakes, two types of rolls, coffee or tea, and orange juice. I couldn’t eat that much for dinner, but it was fun to be able to try a bit of everything, and of course it was absolutely delicious. I’m not much for hot breakfasts when at home, but they’re certainly a necessity before facing Ireland’s morning temperatures. But back to the peat digging, which resident peat cutter John kindly showed us how to do. Just for the record, peat is highly compressed organic matter, the precursor to coal and eventually diamonds – in appearance, it’s somewhere between mud and petrified wood. Basically, you have a shovel-like tool, but the metal part is skinnier and much more curved in that you stick into the edge of the peat “shelf” you’re standing on, push the shovel part all the way into the peat, and pull out towards you, getting a nice brick, about a foot and a half long. You throw the brick onto the level above you (about three feet up), where it breaks into a few smaller pieces that you spread around to dry out. After about two weeks (factoring in the almost-constant rain), the peat will have dried and can be packaged and sold. I enjoyed the digging because the scenery was beautiful especially early in the morning and the work had a kind of quiet rhythm that seemed quite in tune with nature. Also, the particular batch we helped dig was going to the elderly in Cahersiveen. While we out in the more rural area, we visited a ringfort, and ancient dwelling where two small stone houses were built surrounded by a ring-shaped wall. Inside the compound, a tunnel led from the fort down to the bay about a mile away for quick escape from warring clans. It’s amazing that something that old is still intact – a feeling I also get when seeing a picture of Stonehenge or the like, and the view was breathtaking from the top of the hill the fort is built on (as well as insanely windy). The view from that hill made me understand a little more why ancient Ireland was a land of warring clans – I could certainly see why people would be extremely protective of land this pristine.
Next up, we returned into town to be split into three groups: one to the local hospital to prepare meals, one to the town park to pull weeds, and the last to the Cahersiveen Youth group to help them brainstorm team building exercises for their fall groups. I was part of the third group, and very much enjoyed the company of the Youth group leaders and thought the games were fun if childish. The one that stays vivid in my mind was not so much a game as a small assignment they gave us after breaking us into groups of about four – we were to come up with the top three rules for keeping order if stranded on a desert island. Our answers were common sense: fairness of tasks, sharing items equally, respect, truthfulness, and open communication. For whatever reason, it really struck me that these simple rules apply exactly the same to any society, from four people on an island to billions of people across Europe or the hundred millions in the United States.
After our volunteer work we ventured over to a local playing field to learn Gaelic football, but the reality of Irish weather soon set in and we were soaked through in about fifteen minutes of kicking the ball around and learning a few serving types. While the more wetness and temperature squeamish like myself took to the covered benches, the very nice young men from the local football association demonstrated a game for us, and the more hardy of the group played another game.
A few rules I somehow picked up: You serve with the heel of your hand (a la volleyball) or kickball style. You can “bounce” while running down the field, equivalent of dribbling, can have no more than one in a row. Soloing is bouncing the ball off the top of your foot while running down the field. When scoring, you receive one point for hitting it above the goal bar with a hand serve, three points for kicking it in the goal.
On a similar note, it seemed to me the Irish are very serious about sports, like Americans. We listened to the Gaelic football game between Cork and Kerry on the coach ride to Dublin, and the coach driver (Kerry) and Adam (Cork) had some very fiery words to say about the game and each other – though all in good fun, of course.
When the rain finally let up to a drizzle, we hurried off back to the town’s main drag to take a quick scenic hike up the hills behind the town. On the way we saw some of the grander houses built gin the town, a lot of the beautiful local flora and fauna, as well as the spot Sigerson Clifford composed his famous song, The Boys of Bar Na Sraide:
Oh, the road that lines the mountains and looks down o'er the sea,In my waking hours or dreaming, it's there I long to be.To meet again those friends I knew when first I came a manWith the boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
Oh, with cudgels stout we roamed about for to hunt the grey drolin.We searched 'neath every hawthorn bush from Litir to Duneen.We jumped for joy beneath the sky, life held no print or plan,Oh, we boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And when the hills of Kerry were bleeding and the rifles were ablazeTo the rebel homes of Kerry the Saxon stranger cameBut the boys who dared the Auxies and who fought the Black & TansWere once boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And they are far across the sea where they have gone to stayDeep in the heart of London town or over on BroadwayAnd I am left to sing their deeds and to praise them while I can,Those boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
Oh, here's a health to them tonight, those boys that fought with meFrom the groves 'round Callan River to the slopes of Mi na TiCon Dalton and Bat Andy and the Sheehans Con and Dan,The boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
And when the wheel of life runs down and death comes over me,Just lay me down in those green fields between the hill and sea.Just lay me down in those green fields where first I came a manWith the boys of bar na sraide who hunted for the wren.
A little explanation of some of the things mentioned in the song:
The boys of bar na sraide = boys from the top of the street, i.e. the neighborhood boys.Litir, Duneen = Co. Kerry place names.Auxies, Black & Tans = auxilliary British soldiers.Callan River, Mi na Ti = geographical features.
It’s a beautiful song, but even more touching when you’re in the midst of an Irish forest remembering how those men fought to save everything that was dear to them. Further on the trail, we walked to a statue of Daniel O’Connell, the nineteenth century Irish Politician and campaigner for Irish freedom. He was the first Catholic allowed in the House of Commons and was finally able to repeal Union Act of 1801 with peaceful means, starting the Irish down the path to emancipation from Britain.
Our final stop that night was an Irish ceili (or dance), one of my favorite things we did while in Ireland. A full traditional Irish band played for us, and everything they played was beautiful and captivating. The acoustic guitar player was also a vocalist and sang “Galway Girl,” the song I opened this blog with because I thought it was so pretty and passionate. They also, and much to their credit, attempted to teach us three fast-paced and fun Irish dances: Shoo-the-donkey, a waltz, and a couples dance, ‘the Archway.” While I’m not much of a dancer, I had an absolute blast.
Link to my Ireland photos:
http://s755.photobucket.com/albums/xx198/cheath44/IRELAND/
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Part I: Thank you's and a little about People to People
Before launching into my adventure so generously supported by my family, friends, teachers, and all others who might have given me an encouraging word or shared in my excitement, I thought it only fair to say a few words about the organization I traveled with.
The People to People Student Ambassador program was founded in 1954 by former WWII Allied commander Dwight D. Eisenhower as he tried to find a way to prevent an atrocity like WWII from repeating. An astute man, Eisenhower realized the best time to teach peace and understanding is adolescence, when young men and women are gathering the experiences that will shape the rest of their lives. He founded PTP on that principle, hoping that the close cultural contact between American teens and people of the countries they visit would cause them to think carefully before they engage in any violence or conflict.
The thing I most appreciated when I first received the nomination for the program was the trip wasn’t simply superficial tourism, hoping from Big Ben to the Eiffel Tower and doing some shopping (all of which we did and I enjoyed immensely), but also included the historical context of being an American in Europe. We had the opportunity to immerse ourselves in foreign culture as well as some major American experiences in Europe (WWI and WWII especially). The program itself has a greater purpose than any one ambassador or trip – it has a mission to instill all ambassadors, who will be tomorrow’s leaders, entrepreneurs, and innovators, with an international perspective and intercultural respect.
The People to People Student Ambassador program was founded in 1954 by former WWII Allied commander Dwight D. Eisenhower as he tried to find a way to prevent an atrocity like WWII from repeating. An astute man, Eisenhower realized the best time to teach peace and understanding is adolescence, when young men and women are gathering the experiences that will shape the rest of their lives. He founded PTP on that principle, hoping that the close cultural contact between American teens and people of the countries they visit would cause them to think carefully before they engage in any violence or conflict.
The thing I most appreciated when I first received the nomination for the program was the trip wasn’t simply superficial tourism, hoping from Big Ben to the Eiffel Tower and doing some shopping (all of which we did and I enjoyed immensely), but also included the historical context of being an American in Europe. We had the opportunity to immerse ourselves in foreign culture as well as some major American experiences in Europe (WWI and WWII especially). The program itself has a greater purpose than any one ambassador or trip – it has a mission to instill all ambassadors, who will be tomorrow’s leaders, entrepreneurs, and innovators, with an international perspective and intercultural respect.
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