CNU students have vacated the Newport News area and (some reluctantly) gone to their residences around the east coast.
Now I’m back in Richmond, and happily snowed in with some family and friends. After sledding, and movie-watching, and emailing, and facebooking – well there just isn’t much left to do. Except one thing we Fitzgeralds and friends have mastered.
Eating.
We have cooked, eaten, cooked, and eaten some more. It’s a good thing we were forced to WALK to Ukrops (for more food of course) so we would burn a few calories. And not to mention, the house is at full occupancy! Instead of the normal five family members, we have nearly eleven people over at times. So of course we need lots of food… right?
I swear I will go to the gym when all this snow melts. But since we still have about a foot of precipitation left on the ground, that won’t be anytime soon ;)
Cookie, anyone?
Gracie as Julia Child during one of our many kitchen adventures this break
This is what I have been working on in a documentary studies class at CNU throughout the last semester. The slide show is just one part of an overall website we will be creating as a whole, which I'll embed later when it's complete.
My assignment was to talk with Mrs. Margaret from the Riverside PACE Center. And here is a little clip of some quotes she gave me about her life:
Mrs. Margaret Hunt and Riverside PACE on PhotoPeach
Driving from Newport News, Virginia to Chicago, Illinois is not often attempted in a day's time. But we were determined.
Lambda Pi Eta is the Communication Honor Society here at Christopher Newport University. The club applied and won "Best Chapter of the Year" from the National Communication Association, and had beat out other prominent undergraduate programs. We had been invited to the conference, and couldn't resist the offer to visit to the "windy city."
Being the President of LPE, I had the fun and easy job of organizing our trip within a week and a half... not overly complicated, but technologically tiring. Still, communications majors certainly know who to communicate. Twitters, emails, and text were filling up my many in-boxes. But a plan was finally underway!
Two members, Kiara and Billy, would be accompanying me to the awards ceremony, where we would also meet our advisor, Dr. Meyer. Our group would stay with Jenn, one of Dr. Meyer's friends from college who lived near the city, and who would take us to the conference the following morning.
So we began the journey at 8:30am Eastern Standard Time, and arrived at 1:00am Central Standard Time. But along the way we found a few interesting American landscapes. Old diners, West Virginians in overalls, and Ohio nothingness were just some of our interesting discoveries while in route to Chicago.
Once we arrived, Jenn showed us to the basement we would be sleeping in. After driving all day, I passed out within five minutes, and didn't move for at least eight hours.
It was glorious.
The next morning, we rode the train into the city. Excitement was building as we exited the underground station and saw our first Chicago skyscrapers. We had made it! Now we just needed an award to take home with us...
After a business meeting discussing national matters for LPE, the ceremony began. While receiving the award was quite an honor, my favorite memories might have been when several extremely intelligent LPE Presidents approached Dr. Meyer and asked how "we did it."
"Hi, I'm from (insert big university here) and I was just wondering if you could give us a few pointers on winning the Chapter of the Year award. Do you mind if I take notes? Do you have contact information? Could you be our mentor???"
I would have liked to have said, "No she is our mentor - back off you LPE nerd." But instead I smiled as Dr. Meyer politely gave her business card to Mr. I-wanna-win.
We had won; I had to be nice...
So I held back "competitive Britney" as my family calls it, and switched into celebration mode. It was time for a toast! So we explored the city, ordered drinks at a classy bar, and bowled at an ally with a dress code and dinner tables. Billy, Kiara, and I loved being out of the car and in the city, stretching our legs and seeing new sites.
Of course... there was the whole we-have-to-drive-home thing.
But 16 hours isn't so bad... right?
Best Quotes:
"Third-wave feminist, post-structuralist critique of Katy Perry vs. Lady Gaga. Go!"
"I hate them both."
-Jenn to Dr. Meyer
"This is it!"
-Kiara and I for every part of the trip there and home. It was never "it."
Best States to Drive Through:
-Kentucky with rolling green hills.
-West Virginia with mountains and little towns.
Worst States to Drive Through:
-Ohio with nothing to see.
-Indiana because it was such a loooong state.
State with the Most Roadkill:
-Kentucky. So many dead deer!
Best Accent Heard:
-At the Arbys in Kentucky on the way home. Haeactuwalytawkedlaiketheis.
Best State overall:
-Virginia. Of course.
Some pictures from the trip:
At The Gage after the awards.
Yummy Cheese plate.
Chicago at night.
You know you're in a city when...
Dr. Meyer in Hard Rock Cafe.
Pulling it off.
He gets a shirt in every city.
So patriotic.
Water! I didn't like not being on the coast, so every time there was water we
screamed about it a little bit...
Some city traffic.
Virginia! Still home for me. This was the Chicago Tribune wall that had bricks
I can't say I was nervous. The day had been hectic, trying to figure out plans for a warm Saturday night in mid-October. Yet there was that delicious lingering summer smell in the air that leaves you excited for something to come. You're not sure what... but you're thrilled for the unknown.
So I wasn't nervous when a friend asked if I would like to eat dinner with some homeless people underneath an overpass in downtown Newport News. Nervous just isn't the word. Maybe it was the weather... but I was "thrilled."
Under the bridge with Abe.
David's been doing his thing for almost four years now: He drives downtown every Tuesday and passes out breakfast. Every Thursday he brings several men and women back for a worship service on campus and dinner. Later that evening, they will hang out with us students at bonfires, or even watch episodes ofThe Office.
Some of them are quiet, some loud. Some are content, others restless and scrambling for a job. Some are upbeat, others more mellow. But one thing is the same... no matter how well the they do or don't fit in at CNU, they must always return to where they came from: the streets.
I can't imagine how hard it is for David to drop them off each week. Still, his relationships with that community have only strengthened through the years. And it certainly is a community - if anything that was illustrated Saturday night.
"So I fired the gardener," Alicia says as we parked under the bridge. I laughed, looking around the grassy plot of land, not quite sure if I was supposed to joke about the situation. "Yeah... he was gettin' too expensive," she continued with a smile.
Well that was one way to break the ice.
My friend Kelsey and I were meeting David, two friends from school, and the usual Thursday night crew of homeless men and women... but this time they were sharing their home with us. Their home just happens to be under an overpass. The river is close by, and a parking garage borders the right side of their space.
Kelsey talking with Will.
"We've got all sorts of pets... some 'coons, some opossums, some deer... in the Spring you'll see them... some stray cats," Alicia told us as we waited for our meals. "Usually they don't come into camp. Not if we throw our scraps right over there, ya see?" And like a perfect tour guide, she pointed her finger towards the garage.
Someone's car had been parked under the overpass with the lights on so we could see our dinners. A red grill held pieces of meat that Alicia's husband, Greg, seasoned and cooked. The warm summer air mixed well with the chicken and country sausage sizzling on the fire.
Cooking some dinner...
"Brit, you gotta check out Alicia's bed!" David yelled over to me. Their little "camp" was divided up into platforms made by crates and boxes. Each "bed" was elevated with boards and blankets on the top. I plopped down on Alicia's mat and let my feet dangle off the bed while my head rested comfortably.
I looked up and saw the rusty beams of the overpass. It was beginning to mist, so swirls of little dew drops danced down from the sky, illuminated by street lamps and the car's headlights. It made me sad looking at the rusty bridge; the beams overlapping, creating a binding image. Alicia had to feel so bound. Stuck under this bridge, under the beams, and the rain, and society.
Yet she smiled that lovely smile and pranced around camp, with such hop in her step. I slid off her bed and walked back over to the warm grill.
Since these infamous words, the whirlwind of Dublin has disappeared into fond memories, and the foreign reality of responsibility and the drudgery of normalcy has taken shape more rapidly than I imagined possible. Well, maybe drudgery is the wrong word. After all, “university” isn’t so bad…
But to put it simply: I am home.
I don’t know how to describe all the amazing stories and experiences I lived out over the last several months. When people ask, “How was Ireland?” they must think I lost intelligence while I was abroad because I stare at them, dumbfounded, and then mutter, “Great…amazing. I don’t know where to begin…”
So here is my last Ireland-related list (I think):
Five Moments I Will Always Remember…The Good and the Bad:
1. Getting off the plane in Ireland – I was by myself in a different country for the first time, and was so tired and confused. But there was also this euphoric sensation of an adventure beginning. That rare feeling is certainly memorable…and addicting.
Finding the house was another story...
2. First Pub Experience – Alex had invited me to join him and his friends at a pub downtown. I actually turned them down the first time because I was nervous. I didn’t know where the pub was, who I was meeting up with, how to get around the city safely, if I needed my passport or would they take my driver’s license? I didn’t know anything – and I was tired. But I remember texting him back and saying, “I can’t make it out tonight, but I will be completely free tomorrow so please call me then!”
Basically I set myself up so that I couldn’t say no. And sure enough the next night, I was invited to Doyle’s pub in city center. I sucked it up and got on the bus alone, found the place and Alex, hailed my first taxi, and met some amazing friends. I remember thinking…”If I hadn’t gone out that night, who knows how long it would have taken me to make that initial step?"
When I didn't know how to get somewhere, I would google seach the place, and then take a picture. Then I could pull out my camera like a map...usually worked!
3. That One Friday – I wrote several blog posts about one specific Friday. All in one day, I went to Slain (also known as The Village of the Dead), I was called a homeless person, and went on a weekend excursion with friends where the hostel lost our reservation. Consequently, we had to sleep in the “cinema room.”This rollercoaster of a day had some extremely funny moments, some extremely horrible moments, and some moments where I simply had to laugh at the situation.But everything was memorable and made for some great stories.
During my weekend trip, we saw that cows really do get stuck in the road.
4. U2 Concert – My friend Letitzia and I were depressed. Our first group of friends in Ireland had gone back to Italy and France, and we still had several weeks to go without them in the country. So we needed to do something fun and exciting to take our minds off saying “ciao ciao ciao…”
U2 was playing their last concert in Ireland that Monday night. If you know anything about U2, you know that most of the band members are from the Dublin area, so this is a very important show to the Irish people. Letitzia and I tried to go snatch some last minute tickets but of course we were told “SOLD OUT!” So we made a new plan: we would walk around and mumble “tickets?” to the incoming crowd.
Getting through security was fairly easy. But after an hour and a half, we had been completely futile in our attempts. Finally we found scrap paper and a pin, scribbled “Two tickets please!” and stood on a sidewalk, alternating who would hold the sign.
A few people stopped and told us different places they knew about where extra tickets had been sold earlier in the day. We checked out one place, but the process seemed like a drug deal. We were supposed to ask this person, and say blah-blah had sent us, and give them this amount of money. Needless to say, nothing much came of that.
We almost gave up. We were tired, neither of us had eaten, and we had been walking around for almost 2 hours after each working a 7 hour day. But, ironically enough, we saw a rainbow and got distracted. Letitzia and I starting singing “There Can Be Miracles” as a joke, and were about to walk away and catch busses home. At the exact moment we were taking down our sign, a man rushes over and says “I have two extra tickets from two employees who didn’t come. They cost me 100 euro each but I’ll give ya both for 50…”
HECK YES. And it was “brilliant.”
5. Dublin felt like home – I am amazed at how quickly I got used to being in the city. The first couple weeks were tricky, but also the most memorable because everything was new (and confusing). But by week four, I knew most the busses I needed to take, the method to avoiding traffic, the places NOT to walk near, and the general layout of the city. I remember when I was arriving back from Belfast into Dublin and I had the urge to tell my friend Macy, “We are home!”And it felt so natural.
Now I am really home, because of course Virginia will always truly be that special word. But meeting all those people, getting to know an excellent host family, working for a newspaper, and living in Dublin are some memories that I will always cherish. My experience abroad could be summed up by simply saying I was challenged yet blessed in the same second every moment of the day. Of course maybe that’s not so different from being at home…my real home.
I must admit that the hardest part about being in Ireland thus far has been my addiction to people.
I love them.
I love the different cultures with their unique customs. I love hearing Irish slang, Italian, French, and German being spoken within the same conversations. I love being surrounded by new faces at a pub, or having discussions about Virginia. I love being “the American girl” but being immersed into a city full of students that are “the girl” or “the boy” of their country. None of us knew anyone when arriving in Dublin; most came alone. But because of this, we are together.
Of course, there is a small problem.
I am very bad at goodbyes. I hate them…I hate saying “ciao ciao ciao” one last time. I hate not knowing if I will ever see someone again. I hate meeting someone and practically praying they aren’t leaving the next day because that just isn’t fair. And most of all, I hate losing that little story I had with different people – those instant connections where you feel like you’ve known someone for much longer than in actuality.
It’s a rare feeling – like coming home from summer camp or your first year in college. Everything is original and interesting and talking to people is like reading a book you can’t put down: their stories and backgrounds are simply enthralling.
Everywhere I walk in Dublin, memories pull me in different directions. Doyles was my first Irish pub, where I met the Italians. The Londis convenience store is where Letitzia and I were asked out by strange Irish men (who we politely declined). The Spire is where I have met everyone at some point or another. The bus station is right by the hostel Kathryn stayed in. And the post office was where I said my final goodbyes to many friends.
Lucky, there is a good thing about people.
There are so many stories I have yet to hear, and so many connections I have yet to make both in Ireland and the States. I can always meet and learn from people, whether I am “on an adventure” or not. So in these last two weeks, I’ll live it up and not worry about goodbyes because maybe, just maybe…I will be lucky enough to say hello again.
“I don’t know…” my sister replied, looking around desperately for a sign that might lead us to Phantom of the Opera.
We had a harebrained scheme: Catch a 15:00 bus to London from Oxford, find Phantom’s playhouse, and after taking a few touristy pictures, grab the late bus back home.
On the way to London.
“The play will be between 7 and 8,” I say.
Kathryn and her friend Lauren glance nervously at watches and cell phone clocks.
“Well…it’s 6:30 now.”
Our plans had already met a slight hitch when our bus had broken down on the highway. And searching for a theater was more difficult than expected. Unlike New York’s Broadway, London stages are scattered throughout the city. So we began asking the question I have become so accustomed to asking: “Excuse me, hi yes sorry. Do you know where (insert every destination ever here)."
Really? Oh yes...
One bus driver pointed us down a street. The next bus driver pointed us back towards the way we came. The man working at a theater could only tell us to ask a bus driver. Finally I saw a postman. Yes a postman! That was who helped me when I was lost on my first day of work! Postmen are awesome – I love you postmen.
So I quickly walked over to him before he could take his lovely postman self down another street.
“Sir, excuse me! Yes…sorry to bother you but…”
Oh wait. You’re not a postman. Dang you and your fake postman outfit…you postman poser! I blindly trusted you because of your uniform and hat and letters in your hand. And the more I talk to you the more I realize you don’t speak English…but you say I should ask a taxi driver? Ok! Yes this one right here? Well, thank you fake postman! Yes have a nice night.
Literally running around London.
So Kathryn, Lauren and I asked a taxi driver if he knew where Her Majesty’s Theater was located.
“You wanna get in?”
“Ha. No sir. Could you just simply tell me…”
“You want in?” he asked again, smashing a turkey sandwich into his face.
“No. I do not. We do not “want in,” I said beginning to get frustrated.
“You gonna pay?”
Ok. I have a feeling we’re not in Ireland anymore.
“Can you tell me or no,” I said. The clock was ticking and I didn’t have time for little taxi man games. Luckily my favorite fake postman came up behind us.
“Coo you jost tell ‘deem where dis is, yes?” he asked.
“Ok," the driver consented. "You’re gonna go down this street here, you see? Go take a left, and then you’re gonna start looking for Haymarket, see? It’s on the left there. On Haymarket.”
I gave him a quick “thanks” but saved my genuine gratitude for the fake postman. “No problem,” he said and went back up the street with his random letters that obviously were not today’s mail.
So the adventure continued. We ran through the streets on London, skipped over obstacles, darted through traffic, and frantically searched for Haymarket. Lauren had to remove her shoes and prance around the city barefoot to keep up. But we were going to see that show, even if our feet were bleeding by the time we arrived. I had already learned in Ireland that blisters will fade...right?
Nice...who needs shoes.
Finally we found the theater. Between Kathryn’s knowledge of London, the fake postman, and the annoying taxi driver, we arrived at 7:15 for the 7:30 show.
Love love love.
“25 pounds for obstructed view,” the man in the booth told us. Last minute tickets are always cheaper, but unless we sat near a column, they would still cost over 70 pounds – which is over $130 American dollars.
So behind a column we sat. And it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all. At first we thought it would be horrible, but once the play started I think it’s safe to say we were all captivated by the magic of the London theater and swept away by the actors voices that led us to a world a mystery and intrigue in a 1800s opera house.
And for 25 pounds? Heck ya!
Harebrained scheme: Check
London play: Check
Touristy pictures by Big Bed and red payphones: Check
Classic holiday with Kathryn: Check, Check, Check!
You better believe I was talking in a British accent...
