The Luck of the Irish goes up in smoke while I eat pasta…
By Jackie Zimmermann, Staff Writer
May 27, 2007 | 2 a.m.
Not that I don’t have enough to experience in London, but being a hop, skip and a jump away from so many other beautiful countries makes travel both easy and incredibly tempting.
My notorious lack of will power and my credit card convinced me to take advantage of my time overseas and to travel as much as possible. First up on the list was Dublin, Ireland. It was less than a thirty minute flight and almost everyone spoke English as their first language, so it didn’t seem like a daunting first trip.
Dublin, however, was not the Ireland that I hoped to experience. I’m glad I went, but the rolling green hills with sheep scattered up the side that I expected to see were noticeably missing. Besides bullet holes left in some statues from the Easter Rising, even the city itself seemed to be missing a distinct cultural identity. It was culturally and architecturally Americanized. Even the thick Irish accents were hard to find.
I wouldn’t chalk the entire trip up as a loss, however. Temple Bar, a kind of Irish Soho, was a great time. The Guinness Storehouse was also interesting, and even those of you who turn your nose up at Guinness would be impressed by how much smoother it is when it’s fresh from the factory.
After returning to London for a week or two of umbrellas and fish and chips, it was time to embark on my next big travel experience. As a culturally curious college student and member of a town with at least a 50 percent Dutch population, I decided to head off to Amsterdam.
I was always told that Amsterdam was a dirty place. Unfortunately for the city, legalized drugs and prostitution kind of distort any ideas of a quaint weekend adventure. However, Amsterdam was just plain cute. The canals and canal houses were picture perfect, and the parks and trees just added to the city’s ambiance.
And yes, there is a red-light district, and yes, it is like walking through an alternate universe. The only thing weirder than seeing half-naked women standing in windows was watching business men walking out of the buildings and knowing that they just paid for something that wasn’t dinner.
After leaving the adorable city and its unique aromas, I returned to London with the task of planning my last weekend getaway. After much deliberation and transferring of funds I decided to go to Rome. At first I was hesitant. Two days in Italy didn’t seem like enough time, and I knew that at some point in my life, I would make it to the country. However, I decided that if I didn’t go I would spend the rest of my life kicking myself for not living in the moment.
Needless to say, I am so happy that I went. Rome was by far my favorite place. Besides being burned to a crisp at the Roman Forum, everything was perfect. The weather was amazing, the scenery was beautiful (the buildings and the men — sorry boys, but it’s true) and the food was beyond fantastic. On our very first night in the city we found a restaurant with a kitchen that looked like it belonged in one of the local’s houses, and the chef was a little old Italian woman who could barely speak English. I really don’t think I need to go into detail about how excellent my pasta was.
Though I left Italy with a heavy heart, I knew for certain that I would be back some day. In fact, I wouldn’t mind spending a few days (weeks, months) traveling just in the country. I guess I’ll just have to see what the future brings.
And now I’m back in London. I’ve only been here around two and a half months, but it already feels like home. Though I am kind of sad that my weekend trips are done, I am looking forward to spending the last couple weeks of the quarter in England. Even though our beds rival the hostels’ in the most uncomfortable sleeping situation contest, and the shower doesn’t always work properly, it just feels good to get back to my comfort zone.