Might I have a quick word? Please? Pretty please? How about now?

Sometimes, well actually more times than I care to admit, I’ve been having so much fun in London that I tend to forget that I still have homework to do. In my convergent media class, I had an assignment to write a story and interview people to get quotes. Doesn’t sound to hard now, does it? Umm…yeah right.

For my story I decided to interview British people about their point of view on the BP oil spill. In theory it wasn’t difficult. Step 1: go up to random person. Step 2: introduce myself as an American student journalist covering the BP oil spill for a class. Step 3: persuade them to let me ask them a few questions to get their opinion on the BP spill. Seemed pretty straight forward.

So, as I was sitting in Starbucks in the late afternoon, I started looking around for someone who looked approachable. That’s when I spotted this young guy who looked like he was in his early 20s sitting by himself. I rehearsed my intro a few times in my head, and tried to build up the courage to go over and talk to this complete stranger. After about ten minutes of psyching myself up, I finally was able to drag myself out of my comfy, safe lounge chair and approach the young man.

Me: “Hi, there. I’m a student journalist from America covering the BP oil spill. Would you mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

Him: -curtly-“Yes. Now is not a good time. Sorry.”

Strike one. Feeling dejected, I returned to my comfy chair. A few minutes later, an older woman comes into Starbucks and goes to sit down by the young guy. He got up and went in line. Great, another opportunity. This woman looked nice. I took a minute to mentally prepare myself for another go.

Me: “Excuse me, Hi. I’m a student journalist from America doing a story on the BP oil spill. Would you mind terribly if I ask you a few quick questions?”

Her: -sharply-“Can’t you see I just sat down? I’m meeting my son here and I just arrived. Sorry.”

I looked up and caught eyes with the young kid who I had just tried to interview and realized that this was his mother.

Strike two. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Now I was really feeling stupid. I had to get this story done by the next morning, and so far I had zilch.

Seeing I wasn’t getting anywhere at Starbucks, I decided to go back to the dorms and see if I could get any of the college students to talk to me. I walked into the courtyard and spotted a couple sitting on the stairs talking. Already I was batting 0 for 2, but I thought for sure the third time would be the charm. Again, I had to take a moment to gear myself up for my approach. As I approached, I heard them speaking in a foreign language. Uh oh. Not a great sign.

Me: “Hi. Do y’all speak English?”

Them: -suspiciously-“Yes.”

Me: “Oh wonderful! I’m a student journalist from America doing a story on the BP oil spill. Have you heard about it?”

Them: “Um, just a little.”

Me: “That’s okay. I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your opinion on what’s going on. Would that be okay?”

Them: “Sure, I guess.”

Me: “Terrific. What do y’all think about the way BP is handling the oil spill and do you think they should be held fully responsible to clean up all the damage to the environment?”

Them: -silence. Blank stares-Uhhhmm…we don’t really understand.”

Me: “Oh. Sorry. Uhm…where are y’all from?”

Them: “Spain.”

Me: “Oh, cool! Are y’all here on vacation?”

Them: “No, we are here learning English.”

Me: -to myself: oh crap-“Oh, well thanks anyway. I really appreciate y’all trying to help me out.”

Strike 3=out.

Now I was feeling pretty frustrated. Interviewing people was really hard work. It’s not easy approaching complete strangers out of the blue and trying to get them to talk to you. Especially when there’s a language barrier. But I had to give it another go since my story was due the next day.

The next morning, I got up early to go back to Starbucks hoping to catch someone relaxing and enjoying a morning paper. I walked in and found a middle-aged lady who fit the bill. She was sitting by herself with a magazine and a cup of coffee in no apparent hurry. After half an hour on my computer doing some research for my story, I finally decided to talk to this lady.

I got up and walked over.
Me: “Hello.”

Her: -suspicious and stand-offish-“Yes. What do you want.”

Me: “Well, I’m a student journalist from America covering the BP oil spill and I was wondering if I could ask you---“

Her: “No. I’m very busy. I’m starting a new job today and I’m trying to finish this magazine before I go. Can’t you see I’m very stressed.”

This time I was getting really ticked. I went back to my chair to do some more research, feeling very irritated by the cold treatment I had just received. As I was doing my research I noticed that that lady did not move from her table. For over an hour she sat there reading her magazine and sipping her coffee. A friend even came and sat down with her for a few minutes. Now I was really pissed. All I needed was a two minute interview, and no one was willing to talk.

By this time, my deadline was fast approaching and I still had virtually nothing to write about. I can’t even put into words how stressed I was getting. But as pissed as I was, I really could understand how these people felt. I know I hate when people approach me out of the blue and start asking me questions. My parents always taught me never to talk to strangers. I was great at ignoring interviews and giving the cold shoulder, but to be on the receiving end of that kind of treatment was aggravating when I had a big story deadline looming on the near horizon. Just as I was about to throw in the towel, I remembered something—the pub.

What better place to get interviews than at the corner pub. It was perfect! In London, people flock to the pub after work to unwind with a beer and socialize. If I waited until after work when people had a few drinks in them, they would probably be very willing to talk. The thought of this gave me hope that I could still get my interviews and pull this story off.

That evening I went down to the pub which was bustling with people hanging around talking, eating, drinking, and laughing. I spotted a group of people hanging around outside. Okay, here goes, I thought. I can do this. This time, I will get the interview.

Me: “Hi, I’m a student journalist from America doing a story on the BP oil spill, and I would love to get your opinion on the matter. Could I ask y’all a few quick questions?”

Them: -laughing-“Y’all??? You really say ‘y’all’? Sure, ask away!”

Jackpot! Finally, finally I had found a group of people who not only were willing to talk to me, but actually happened to be in the oil business and know a lot about the story. They talked to me for almost twenty minute and gave me tons of great information for my story. I was so relieved! I had persevered through the rudeness, language barriers, and general aggravation of talking to strangers to finally get some awesome info. Mission accomplished. Yay.

But I discovered just how hard it is to interview people and that I absolutely LOATHE it. Sure makes you appreciate those who do it for a living and have the guts to ask the really tough questions. I guess I need to work on this area a lot more. Afterall the more you practice something the easier it gets.

So til next time,
Cheers Y’all.

That’s What She Said (And other antics)

When you get a group of creative, artsy college students together for a two and a half week study abroad trip in London, England, you never know what crazy antics are bound to come up and bond you together like a family.

The craziness started our second night in London. We had not adjusted to the time difference, so when the clock struck midnight here in London, our internal clocks said it’s time for food and fun. So all of us, girls, sat around on the hallway floor of the dorms eating and cutting up. Then one of the girls introduced the ‘That’s What She Said’ game. And the madness began.

Basically the ‘That’s What She Said’ game takes an innocent phrase and with the simple utterance of ‘That’s What She Said’ afterwards, it gives the phrase a whole new, rather dirty meaning--something that gave us lots of laughs and drove our professors up the wall by the silliness. In our first night of the game, we counted 200 ‘That’s What She Saids.’ The huge number in one night provoked us to keep a running tally throughout the entire trip to see just how many we could do in two and a half weeks. (That’s What She Said)—see how the game works? Hee hee.

Within a week we had reached 500, and we were determined to set a Guinness World Record if such a thing actually existed. The goal by the end of the trip was 1000 ‘That’s What She Saids.’ Ahhh…Nothing like a good inside joke to bond friends together. The fun thing is that the game is super contagious. Within a few days we got all the guys doing it and even managed to wear down two of the professors. But for that one last professor, she was determined not to buckle to our childish game. Something that makes us try even harder. Afterall, everyone else is doing it (That’s What She Said).

But that was only one of the antics that have happened on our trip.

In addition to the ‘That’s What She Saids,’ I accidentally happened to blow up one of my professor’s laptop powercords when I tried to stick it into the UK cord adapter. Definitely not the way to try to earn bonus points. Haha. What I didn’t realize is that you’re supposed to plug the powercord into the adapter before sticking the whole thing in the socket—a lesson I learned the hard way when I stuck the adapter into the wall then plugged the cord in only to hear a loud pop, see a bright flash come from the wall followed by black smoke. I quickly cut the power to the socket and removed the smoke stained cord. Nothing like the smell of burning plastic.

And of course there are the secret guilty pleasures each one of us wanted to see fulfilled on the trip.

One of my friends had an obsession with getting a British bobby to come up to her and ask ‘What’s all this then?’ like they do in all the American movies.

Another scoured the countryside trying to learn about the UK’s faeries and folklore.

Another found her ‘husband-to-be’ when we went to see the show War Horse and he happened to be the leading man in the play.

As for me, well, I seemed to attract a lot of unwanted attention. It started with the creepy guy who tried to feel me up as I walked out of an ATM. I’m pretty sure he was trying to pick my pocket, but since I didn’t keep anything in my pocket and surrounded by a group of very loud, protective friends, they managed to chase the creeper away before things had a chance to escalate. I was a little bummed, I must say, because before I left the states I had taken a self-defense class with a martial arts expert and would have loved to try some of the moves out on this creep. But self-defense isn’t really self-defense if you throw the first punch. And I didn’t exactly feel like waiting on him to make the first move.

Then came the other creeper at the Starbucks. I was sitting in the corner Starbucks with my professor and my friend working on my homework when this random guy walks around the corner, stops at the window, makes eye contact with me, winks in a really creepy way, then gives me an even creepier smiles, and walks off never to be seen again. Why he chose to stop at the Starbucks and wink at me, I can’t even guess. What is it about me that seems to attract these weirdos.

Then came the middle-aged Middle Eastern man at the convenience store across the street that we frequented often because they had the best candy and soda selection. We had kinda made friends with this guy that managed the store. So when he struck up small talk the morning before we were to leave London and found out that we were going to be leaving, he asked if he could be my facebook friend so we could 'stay in touch.' I was so shocked by this guy's proposal to basically facebook stalk me that it was all I could do to suppress the uncontrollable laughter I was feeling on the inside. Totally creepy. The guy kept pressing for me to give him my name, so I cleverly pulled the 'don't call me, I'll call you trick' and asked him for his name instead. And he gave it to me! On a sheet of looseleaf paper with a wink. I quickly paid for my items, left the building, threw away his note, and laughed hysterically all the way back to the dorm. What is it with all the creepers hitting on me? haha

But then came the sweet, cute, really tall guy on our trip who could have and would have easily beat up any further creeps should they come out of the woodwork--not a bad guy to have around in a big city full of weirdos. haha. And apparently he really took a liking to yours truly. He would hold umbrellas over me when it started to rain and follow me around with it to make sure I didn’t get wet, he would open doors for me, help me up if I had been sitting on the ground, try to make small talk at every possible chance—poor thing. I’ve got to give him

props, he was really trying. ;)

Then came the mad dashes--like the mad dash to Wicked that included running down Constitution road past Buckingham Palace; the mad dash through the airport to catch the plane to Ireland; the mad dash to catch a train to go to Stonehenge; the mad dash to save a man from being killed by a tube; the mad dash to catch a train from York to London to try to make a show—I think I’ve had enough mad-dashing for now. The trip almost seemed like the movie It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad Mad World. And we still have one more excursion back to the airport to go home…we may have one more mad dash in us.

It’s been quite a trip. These two and half weeks in London have given me so many hilarious stories that I will enjoy telling for months—I hate to think that in just a few days, it will all be over and I will have to leave this place and all my new friends. It has been such an incredible experience. Never a dull moment. I’m already planning for

a return trip next year.

Til next time,

Cheers Y’all

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Have you ever had one of those days where people suck so much you question why God hasn’t wiped us all off the planet? My trip to Stonehenge was one of those what I call people-suck-days. And this particular day was quite the doozie too.

It all started really at the train station that morning. The whole group had actually left on time! I thought that was a good omen, until just as we’re about to board the train, two of the girls discovered they had forgotten their train tickets back at the dorms a good half hour round trip if they hurried, unless they wanted to pay about a hundred bucks to buy new rail tickets. I didn’t blame them for choosing the first option to go back. So we decided to wait and catch the later train in hopes that they would be back in time. Unfortunately, the next train arrived and there was no sign of the rest of the gang so we decided to go ahead and hop on board.

The actual train ride was pretty relaxing and uneventful. For almost an hour and a half we rode past the beautiful English countryside and fell asleep to the methodic rhythm of the train moving along the tracks.

However, when we arrived in the little town outside of Stonehenge, things took a drastic turn. We got off the train and rushed to catch the tour bus to Stonehenge. Then our professor told us that she was going to stay and wait for the rest of the group to arrive since she had seen Stonehenge before and didn’t care to repeat the trip. That didn’t exactly speak highly about the monument. Plus I had heard from other friends that Stonehenge really wasn’t all that impressive and that it was much smaller than most people thought. So I wasn’t exactly anxious to see it. But, it was one of those things that at least you can say you’ve seen and done. So I got on the bus.

That’s when we met Richard, the bus driver. Or Dick as he preferred to be known, and as would discover for very good reason. To say that Dick was the bus driver from hell, almost doesn’t do him justice. From the moment we got on the bus, Dick had such an attitude. One of the girls in our group asked him a simple question about how to get back on the bus to come home, and he so gave her such a sharp, smart-ass answer. We took our seats on the bus and Dick put on the tour narration that was supposed to point out all the historical landmarks on the way to Stonehenge. This would have been interesting save for the fact that Dick drove so stinking fast that by the time the narrator would tell us to look out the window to the right or left, the monument was long gone and we were left confusedly straining our necks to catch whatever glimpse of the buildings we could.

Dick had a serious case of road rage. He sped on the tiny two lane highways in his double decker bus as if it were a Nascar track. And whenever he had to slow down or yield to oncoming traffic he would start swearing like a sailor. Then he started swearing at us to open the windows because the bus was so unbearably hot, but what he failed to realize was that he had the heater going the entire time! Yet he was determined it was our fault that the bus was so hot even though we had opened the windows as far as possible. We were so relieved to finally get to Stonehenge and get off the bus.

Then came the ten minute walk to Stonehenge from the bus. Finally we rounded the corner and ascended the ramp to the sidewalk that led to the monument and my initial thought at first viewing the centuries old religious monument was ‘we came all this way for this?’ Stonehenge was such a let down. It was literally a pile of ancient rocks standing up right. Perhaps it would have been more fun had we been able to actually go into the structure, but there were ropes preventing anyone from getting anywhere near the ancient pile of stones. Five minutes of taking photos posing like we were holding them up or pinching them and we were all bored out of our minds.

I looked at my watch and realized if we hurried we could catch the same bus we had arrived on and go back to town. So we took off back towards the bus stop, and would have made it except that several girls discovered the gift shop. Bye bye bus. The next bus would be a 20 minute wait. So we found some benches and decided to sit and relax. A 20 minute wait wouldn’t be that bad.

Twenty minutes came and went…no bus. According to the schedule another bus would be coming along in another 20 minutes. So we waited. Another 20 minutes came and went. Still no bus. Almost an hour later we finally see the bus turning into the parking lot only to find that the driver of our bus was Dick. And Dick was in an even worse mood that when he had dropped us off. The doors of the bus opened and the four-letter words came flooding out of Dick’s mouth as the passengers on the bus hurried off the bus. Then as our group started to get on the bus, Dick turned his rage and dirty mouth on us and began cursing us out for reasons I don’t even know. This time our group decided we were going to try to get as far away from Dick as possible, so we went up to the top of the double decker bus.

The top of the bus was jam-packed with people. We found a few empty seats way towards the back and were able to sit down. Four of the people in our group were squinched together on the very back bench. Then came the fat lady. There literally were no more available seats anywhere on the top of that bus. Yet the fat lady was determined to find somewhere to sit. That’s when she spotted a tiny sliver of space between the four friends on the back bench. Anyone with half an IQ point would have been able to see there was no possible way for her to squeeze onto that bench, but she was determined. So determined that she ended up practically sitting on two of the girls. They had to wiggle out from underneath her and push against the sides of the bus to try to fit. And it was hot on that bus. Apparently Dick still hadn’t turned off the heater.

The bus made its first stop and thankfully the fat lady got off. Once the bus started moving again, one of the girls said that her pant leg was soaked with sweat from that woman sitting on her. What a horrible experience. Yet, the bus ride was long from over. Dick drove that bus about as fast as one can drive a bus that side through the winding, narrow roads going so fast that the bus was swaying from side to side so violently, people were getting motion sick. And for some reason, instead of going back the way we came, Dick took us on a scenic tour of every pig farm in that part of England. Half an hour later on this mad-roller-coaster ride, we finally were overjoyed to be back at the train station and Dick bid us good riddance is his own, British snarky way.

We had planned to proceed to Bath after that trip, but we were so disgusted with the transportation that day, we were all ready to go back home. When we met up with our professor again, she tried to talk us into going to Bath, but we were adamant. Dick had spoiled our day with his road rage. All we could think of was going back to London and being able to hang close to home after this near-death experience.

Thankfully the train ride back to London was peaceful, and we made plans to go catch a performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the archaeological ruins of the Rose theatre. We looked up online what time the show was playing and where the Rose was. While we couldn’t find an exact location of it, we knew that it was right around the Globe theatre where we had visited several times. We were pretty confident we knew how to get there, so we left about half an hour before the show started to walk there. As we walked along the river Thames, we passed the Globe and began looking for the Rose. We looked at the maps and the street signs and couldn’t find any marker advertising the location of the Rose. So we just kept walking thinking eventually we would stumble across it. About half an hour past the show’s starting time, we finally found it. But the show was well underway and the ushers told us we would have to come back another night.

We were very disappointed. This was definitely turning out to be a series of unfortunate events. So now it was 8 o’clock at night and our evening plans had just gone out the window. We had nothing to do. So we decided to just go home and spend a quiet evening at the dorms. We walked along the river Thames back and stopped at the Gelatto stand for some Italian ice cream the proceeded to the underground to catch a tube back to our stop.

We finally arrive back at our stop and go to get off the busy tube when all of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye I see a man fall straight back off the train to the hard surface of the platform. At first I didn’t know if he was drunk or if he had accidentally lost his balance, but he had hit the ground hard. As everyone was hurriedly pushing their way on and off the tube, my friends and I went over to help the man up and walked him to a chair. We began to ask him if he was okay and he responded that he was. But he didn’t look okay. He definitely didn’t look drunk, but he looked as if he were delirious.

The tube pulled off, and people exited the platform. It was just myself, my four friends, this poor fellow and one other young man at the opposite end of the platform left waiting for the next tube. The poor guy assured us that he was okay, so my friends and I turned to leave. That’s when we just happened to turn and look back to see the man stand up, stumble forward, and take a dive over the edge of the platform. His head and arms were hanging over the rails of the tracks. Just his legs and torso remained on the platform. Then one of the girls saw the headlights of the next tube quickly approaching. We rushed back to try to pull the man off the tracks before the tube came whizzing past. But he was in such a semi-conscious state that he was in no shape to help us as we tried to pull him to safety. The other young man on the platform saw us struggling and quickly bolted to help us pull the guy to safety just in the nick of time. No sooner did we pull him to safety when the tube sped past. Had we been just moment later, this poor man would have died.

All of us were quite shaken up by the whole ordeal. We knew this man was clearly not okay, but being in England we weren’t sure how to contact emergency services to come help. Luckily one of my friends spotted a big red help button on the wall of the tube station and called for help. We stayed with the man and watched carefully that he didn’t try to get up again until help came. A few minutes later, help arrived and we were relieved to be able to go about our way. It was such a strange occurrence, none of knew what to make of it or more importantly what had caused that man to act so strangely. It was quite a feeling knowing we had saved someone’s life, yet at the same time it was just so weird. The whole day had been a weird series of events…nothing working out as planned. It was an odd sequence of being at the wrong place at the wrong time all day only to end up being exactly where that man desperately needed us to be to save him from what would have been a very tragic, ugly, premature death.

But by the end of this, we were all so shaken up, tired, hungry, and grumpy, all we could think of was going back to the dorms and getting into the solitude of our beds and calling it a night. We had had enough strange human interaction for one night.

It was quite an experience. One that I won’t easily forget, but will probably relay many times upon arriving home.

Til next time,
Cheers Y’all

The QVC Flight

After spending a full day walking around Dublin, I was exhausted as I boarded my plane back to London. I was expecting, and rather hoping for a relaxing, uneventful flight home, but of course, that would just be too easy.


From the moment the Ryanair plane took off til the moment it landed in London an hour later, I felt like I was suddenly thrust into a very strange SNL/QVC skit. The flight attendant on the plane, who spoke with a very heavy Eastern European accent, proceeded to try to sell everything under the sun on that little plane.


It started off with the usual stuff—snack food. A cart rolled down the center aisle of the plane with the typical sodas, chips, and even candy bars. It was more than the flight across the Atlantic had offered, but really not all that odd. Not yet anyways.


Then came the wine and expensive liquor. On this tiny plane, the flight attendant started making a hard sales pitch to get people to buy all sorts of expensive drinks on board. I was kinda shocked by this considering the fact it was such a short flight, and such a cheap flight. Yet they were selling all this expensive liquor. But that was still only the beginning.


The next items up for sale—expensive beauty products. A cart full of Dior colognes and perfumes and the like, expensive lotions and creams…I’m pretty sure I saw some makeup products too. This was pretty strange. And pretty stinking hilarious. I could only imagine what the next item up for sale would be.


I soon found out.


Smokeless cigarettes. The Eastern European flight attendant really made a hard sale on this item. As the stereotypical skinny blonde stewardess walked down the center aisle modeling the smokeless cigarettes like one of the Price is Right girls, the flight attendant gave his pitch.


“Since this is a no smoking flight, why don’t you buy some of our smokeless cigarettes. Just like the real thing except no smoke. You can smoke them on planes, in hospitals, around babies because there’s no smoke. Only nicotine. It’s like an inhaler for only €6!”


When he compared smokeless cigarettes to an inhaler, I just about lost it. It was a good thing the pilot had turned on the fasten seatbelt sign or else I would have fallen out of my chair laughing. I was laughing so hard at all the things this guy was selling on this short flight. I had never seen anything like it before. It was literally like being on QVC in an airplane some 30,000 feet in the air.


But the selling didn’t stop there. No. Next came the Scratch-offs. Because what good is expensive wines, perfumes, and the smokeless cigarettes without a good game of scratch-offs. For just another €6 you could buy four scratch-off tickets..and get a fifth one free! And like the guy so brilliantly put it, “You may win, you may not. But if you do, we split profits 50/50. And the money goes to charity. So it’s a good cause.”


I didn’t quite follow his logic on this one. But it was still extremely funny. My friends and I were nearly rolling on the floor laughing at all the bizarre sales pitches we were hearing on this plane. So many items rolled down the center aisle of that plane during that short flight. I was almost sad when I felt the plane touchdown on the tarmac because I couldn’t even imagine what more would have been up for sale had it been a longer flight. I was beginning to wonder if there were live chickens and cows stored somewhere on the aircraft to be sold had we been flying further on to Paris.


Guess I’ll have to fly with them again to find out.

Til next time,
Cheers Y’all.

I Found My Home in Ireland

Ever since hearing Roma Downey’s Irish accent on Touched By An Angel and seeing Riverdance for the first time nearly 10 years ago, I became obsessed with all things Ireland. Irish dance, Irish music, Irish accents, Irish castles...if it had anything to do with the Emerald Isle, I wanted to know about it. My first screenplay I even set in a small castle in Ireland. The day I found out that I had the teensiest trace of Irish blood in me, I was ecstatic! Basically I need to find out if there’s an Ireland Anonymous group because I am in love with all things Irish. So to finally get to set foot on Irish soil was huge for me!

I had built up this trip in my mind so much I was praying not to be disappointed. And quite to the contrary, my day in Dublin far surpassed what I could have even hoped for and only multiplied my love of the country. Upon touching down in Dublin, I was determined to see as much of the city as I could in one day. I had brought my guide book with me and circled all the high-lights I wanted to see on a map so I knew exactly where everything was…in theory. It would have helped had I been pointing the map in the right direction. But after wondering around for half an hour trying to figure out which way was north and asking a few locals for help, I was set to go

and explore.

Dublin is such a great city because it has all the city conveniences, amenities, shops, museums, and attractions of a huge metropolis like London, but is much slower paced. In Dublin, there wasn’t the crazy rush, hustle-bustle of people always trying to run from one place to another. It was much more peaceful and I felt free to meander around the streets…well at least I would have had I not been so excited to explore as much as possible during my one day in Ireland.

The first thing on my to-see list was the Dublin Writer Museum—an entire museum devoted to Ireland’s famous authors, poets, and playwrights. As if that’s not cool enough, it had a bookstore attached that had a great collection of books by these authors in addition to books by new, up-and-coming authors. I ended up spending quite a few Euro in that shop, but it was so worth it.

Then I hit the Custom House on the north bank of the Liffey River that runs through the center of Dublin. Right in front of the custom house was, I kid you not, Butt Bridge. When I first saw Butt Bridge on my map, I thought I was in desperate need of a new glasses prescription, but after having several friends confirm the name of the bridge, it literally made my day to know that such a hilarious thing existed in Ireland of all places.

Continuing on, the next place I went was Trinity College in hopes of seeing the famous Book of Kells which is a hand-illustrated copy of the four Gospels of the Bible that dates back to 800AD. Unfortunately, I would have had to pay €10 to see the book, and that was money that would be better spent in the souvenir shops. But I was more than content to explore the Trinity College campus which was GORGEOUS! The architecture was so incredible, I couldn’t take enough pictures. Everywhere I looked there were intricately carved statues and monuments. The buildings themselves had such beautiful stone work. It was the most breathtaking college campus I’ve ever seen. I only wonder what tuition is to go to a college like that. I’m guessing that it’s a whole other type of breathtaking. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it might actually be heart-stopping.

After Trinity College, I ventured on to Dublin Castle. Words can’t even describe how amazing it was to see a real Irish castle. This castle-turned-museum looked like something straight out of a movie. I couldn’t believe that here, in the middle of modern Dublin, was this stone castle almost 800 years old!

From Dublin Castle, I next hit Christ Church Cathedral. I actually thought I was looking at the famous St. Patrick’s Cathedral until my friend pointed out my mistake. It was still a gorgeous church nonetheless, but I had my heart set on seeing St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Thankfully, it was just down the road. St. Patrick’s Cathedral was much much larger and more impressive than Christ Church Cathedral. The gothic architecture was so intricate. It’s amazing to think how people could have built these impressive buildings hundreds and hundreds of years ago before any kind of modern technology, and yet they have survived all these centuries.

Even though I covered quite a bit of ground in Ireland and saw so many famous spots, some of my favorite things about Ireland, however were the little cottages with their rainbow colored doors, the cafes that sold amazing fresh baked goods, the Irish gift shops where I spent way too much money adding to my Irish T-shirt collection, and most of all the Irish people.

The people in Ireland are so much friendlier than the people in London. It could really be likened to the difference between New Orleanians and New Yorkers. The Irish people have that ‘southern hospitality’ that Londoners sorely lack. Whenever someone would see me fumbling around with my guide book trying to figure out how to get to some monument, they would come up and give me directions to where I was going then tell me several other spots I should check out. I wish I could have had time to check them all out.

Being in Ireland felt like I had discovered my home. I only wished I could have spent more time exploring further into the countryside. Needless to say, I will be planning many return trips there in the future. Who knows, maybe one day I will be able to live there. It could happen.

Til next time,

Cheers Y’all

Londoners Weigh in on BP Gulf Horizon Oil Spill

In London, people have their own opinions on the media coverage of the BP oil spill as well as who should be held responsible for the clean-up. The BP oil spill has been making news headlines in the US since the Gulf Horizon rig explosion on April 20. For 85 days, an estimated 184 mil gallons of oil has been spewing into the Gulf of Mexico according to a story by World Correspondents.

“Things like this happen and it’s sad,” said David Horton, a bartender at the Roebuck Pub in London. “BP has to take the blame because it’s their well.”

Nicholas Hughs, a Scottish student studying in London said, “I don’t think it’s completely BP’s fault because things like that happen.”

London resident Patrick Monahan believed that there was is a joint liability as to who should be held responsible for the oil spill. He said that America is just as at fault as BP because America should not have let BP drill in their waters if they already knew about BP’s high accident record. Monahan expressed his concern as to how BP plans to clean up the oil. “All they (BP) have said is that they will do something, not how though.”

“BP should do what they’re talking about; however, they could do all they could and still get criticized for it,” Hughs added.

Horton said that the media is making the story much bigger than it needs to be. “The media is forcing you to believe one thing and the government is telling you other things.”

Hughs had a contrasting viewpoint of media coverage of the oil spill: “BBC doesn’t lie. There is a lot of damage and they show pictures of all the oil-covered animals. It’s sad, and they don’t try to downplay it.”

Horton added, “We just want to see it stopped. It’s not good for the environment.”

Monahan worried that the clean-up would cost a lot of money and that British government would pass the bill along to the people through higher taxes. .

“BP should be held responsible in association with the other company involved with the building of the rig,” said Indian study abroad student Prashant Iyer. “The company should have learned from the mistakes of the Alaskan oil spill.” Iyer further added that he would like to see BP come up with a compensation package since the spill affects many other resources and industries such as the American fishing industry.

According to BBC, $4 billion has already been spent by BP in worker’s compensation and clean-up efforts. BP also plans to sell off $7 billion in assets to further fund the clean-up. BP says it will sell off assets in Texas, Canada, Egypt, Pakistan, and Vietnam.

Dublin in a Day

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Dublin, Ireland is a place to spend an day if one wants to get away from the stressful hustle and bustle of London while still being able to enjoy all the fine cultural amenities of a big city. Dublin has the friendly, laid back feel of a small country town but offers a wide variety of shopping, museums, castles and bus tours.

One can do a lot in Dublin in a day because the city is easy to navigate and many of the main attractions are within walking distance of each other.

If one has the opportunity to visit Dublin for a day, must-see landmarks include the following places:

-Dublin Writers Museum
-the Custom House
-Trinity College, Dublin Castle
-Christ Church Cathedral
-St. Patrick’s Cathedral
-the Brazen Head Pub
-Carroll’s Irish Gifts.

The Dublin Writers Museum, located on Parnell Street North, just north of the Liffey River that runs through the center of the city, honors Ireland’s most famous and beloved authors. The museum also has its own bookstore that sells works by many of Ireland’s legendary authors like Joyce, Shaw, Wilde, and Yeats as well as some lesser known Irish novelists and poets.

Another must-see Dublin landmark is the Custom House, located right on the north bank of the Liffey River. The Custom House, built in 1791, is the location of the Irish government offices. During the 1920s, the Custom House was burned down by the Irish Republican Army, but it was completely restored during the 1980s.

On College Street, south of the Liffey River, is Trinity College. This college is home to the famous Old Library which contains over 200,000 books including the Book of Kells, an intricately illustrated version of the four Gospels, which dates back to the 800s AD.

Dublin Castle and the Chester Beatty Library, located on Dame Street, has been transformed into a library and art museum which can be seen on a guided tour of the castle’s interior. Dublin Castle also features a café and a gift shop that has many items on the history of the castle.

Next to see on the Dublin-in-a-Day list is Christ Church Cathedral on Christchurch Place. This Gothic-inspired church dates back to 1038 but was restored in the 1870s. It is one of Dublin’s two most famous Protestant churches. Dublin’s other most famous Protestant cathedral is St. Patrick’s Cathedral which has been around since the 1220s.

In addition to its famous historical landmarks, Dublin is also known for its great restaurants, particularly its pubs. The Brazen Head, built in the 1100s, is Ireland’s oldest pub. Irish author James Joyce visited the Brazen Head and even wrote about it in his famous novel ‘Ulysses.’

Finally, one can’t conclude the day in Dublin without stopping into one of Carroll’s Irish Gifts. The gift shop has a variety of Irish souvenirs including an entire section devoted to Guinness. This chain of souvenir shops located throughout Dublin carries everything from T-shirts, coffee cups, and dog toys, to beer mugs, shot glasses, and Irish candies.

For more information on Dublin tourist attractions visit:

http://www.dublintourist.com/popular_dublin/
http://www.visitdublin.com/seeanddo/DublinsTop10/DublinsTop10.aspx?id=246