Chapter One: An Inauspicious Beginning

It was the last night of 2006 and I was a mere 6 hours from a flight that was going to carry me half a world away from anything remotely close to my 'comfort zone'. I still needed to pack. I still needed bus tickets. I remembered being excited to travel abroad, but that had been 5 months previous, when it had been just one of many hair brained schemes, like driving to the beach at midnight, or pan frying hot dogs. Now my hand had been called, and I had to follow through with my braggart's claims.
Plane Ticket? Check.
Clothes? Check.
Passport? Check.
Acceptance Confirmation? ....

Could it be true? Could I have really been that careless, to be mere hours from travelling to Ireland, a country that's not at all America, and yet have absolutely no hard evidence that I actually had a berth waiting for me when I arrived?

Oh yes friends. I could be.

The National University of Ireland, Galway Campus (NUI Galway from here on) had told me I was in, but I had never received a hard confirmation, a guide telling me when and were I should go, really anything that one would expect to received. Of course, it's New Years, a holiday the world over, and no one is in their offices.

Can I push my plane flight back, giving myself another day to confirm something, anything before shipping myself to the Far Side of the World? "No, sorry, not unless you'd like to pay 1200 dollars". Not on your life, Sister.

So I was packed, on a plane, and hurtling onwards towards my uncertain future. But did I panic? Well, yes. But it was that special brand of panic that I do so well, wherein I completely divorce myself from all possible consequences, a kind of hedonistic Zen.

On the plane the movie was The Queen: I question their choice to show a film about the British royalty on a flight full of Irish, but at least it distracted me from the fact that the sleep aides where doing nothing to knock me out.

At Dublin customs, the Garda in charge ("The Hated Garda", Irish police) and I had a chat:
"How can you be going to school? Where are your papers?"
"I don't have any papers, Sir."
"How can that be? The school knows, they must have sent you your papers. I'll turn you right around and throw you out of the country, so help me God I will."
"I'm sorry Sir, I must have forgotten them. I'm the confirmation of all lazy, incompetent American stereotypes perpetuated by our vapid Must See T.V.'
He let me through. It took everything I had to not spit back in his face, "Papers? I don't need no stinking Papers!"
I kept it to myself.

The bus to Galway stopped every 15 minutes, never once announcing what town we were rolling into. Perhaps because of the 3 hours of sleep I was running on, I choose the holistic approach; "the other people my age on the bus must be going to school too. I bet they know where I'm going. I'll just follow them." One day that logic is going to betray me- it hasn't yet. It also helped that Galway was the end of the line.



It only took 10 minutes off the bus to realize that, despite my fears, Galway was worth the trip; this town is adorable . Unfortunately, there were another 170 minutes before I could pass out, during which I got lost in the sudden, pounding rain. The rain didn't faze me; I stayed warm and dry in my fine new Hound’s-tooth Long Coat. However, the raw, blistering wind was a small shock, but judging by the number of Galwegean's wielding broken umbrellas, it was a shock to all.

I slept for 14 hours, only waking once, at 7, to inquire about breakfast from the front desk of my hostel. They thought it was odd that I wanted breakfast at night. With the sun only being up for about 8 hours here, I took this as a reminder to always check the AM/PM function of my watch.

The next day, I crossed paths with the estimable Ms. Kate Peck, USC Alumnus and former Fencer, who gained 1,000 points for offering me her flatmate's bed while her flatmate is still AWOL on Christmas break. She would have gotten 1,100 points if the bed had come with flatmate inclusive. Ms. Peck is a graduate student who enjoys being snarky, reading high concept vampire literature, and trying to find a job to support her [paused] drinking habit.

And then, it's orientation. I tremble, afraid with the distinct possibility that I would be going home far sooner then expected. The strongest reason I have to think that I belong is that USC didn't let me know otherwise; I'm willing to follow strangers across a country on a bus, but trusting USC to that degree seems foolhardy even to me. I find my advisor; I pour my heart out to her. I all but cry at her feet. Like a kindly den mother, she lifts me up, and looks me in the eyes:
"Of course you're registered; you're here, aren’t you?"



It turns out, NUI Galway hadn't sent anyone, anything. That’s just how they roll.
The Custom's policies had recently changed, hence why I had no papers.
As for the Hated Garda, he had to let me in to the country for at least 90 days, it's the law; he was just a jerk.

And that was the first half of my week. The Adventure is Over; Welcome to the Adventure.