Silence is Golden: Part 1

I participated in a 10 day silent meditation retreat last week and thought I'd post some anecdotes...

Now to clarify, yes, a 10 day silent retreat means no talking for 10 days. But it also means no eye contact, gestures, physical contact, reading, writing, or exercising. Waking up at 4:00am and going to bed at 9:00pm with just under 11 hours a day of meditation.

Because its necessary to be comfortable sitting for 11 hours a day, most of us wore sweats around while a few wore skirts or pajama pants. Having to take our shoes on and off every time we entered a building, we would, on average...take our shoes on and off 200 times a day. So slip-on shoes were essential. I had to laugh at one point though because at any given time of the day, you could look around and see people walking around wearing crazy pajama pants tucked into their cowboy boots or old-lady slippers, wandering around the grounds by themselves and possibly even mouthing thoughts. At many times I realized it could have easily been mistaken for a mental institute!

The final straw...

I reached my breaking point.

It had been 2 weeks of unrelenting snow here in Ireland and without a car, roads too icy for buses, and living in the country, I had gotten cabin-fever. Now mind you, I did enjoy watching 5 years of Grey's Anatomy Seasons for two weeks, but I didn't come to Ireland to watch Izzy see dead people. So I booked a train out of Kildare and off to Kilkenny.

My train is to leave Kildare at 11:43am and Emma said that she could give me a ride. Although, she gets tied up at work faxing a million dollar fax and runs late picking me up.

As we rock up to the train station, there is a train there already. AH! It's 11:40. I supposedly have 3 minutes. and apparently, trains are never on time in Ireland.

I jump out of the car and run up onto the platform. People are hustling on and off the train and I see the 'flag man.' (This is my name for the guy who makes sure everyone is on or off and lets the train conductor know its ok to leave.) I run down the platform and run up to the guy saying, "I need to get my paper ticket because I bought it online!"

He calmly tells me to go 'stand inside the building.' I run inside but no one is there. So I yell for someone, "Hello! Hello!" No answer. I go back out to the platform and the guy waves me back inside.

The flag man then comes in and asks for my ticket number. He, slow-as-molasses, punches in my number and out of the corner of my eye, I see the train leave. (I'm thinking to myself, 'Well, good thing that wasn't my train because it just left. It must be going somewhere else." )

Then the guys says to me. "Oh. You're going to Kilkenny." And I respond, "Yes, I already know that."

His response... "Well you just missed your train then."

"WHHAT!?" -me

"That was your train. You'll have to catch the next one in 5 hours."
My jaw hits the floor. I respond in a half angry/half about to cry quavering voice, "YOU LET MY TRAIN GO?! WHY would you send me to stand in here by myself , while you told my train to drive off?"

And he simply says, "Next one 4:45. You know, you could have just gotten on the train."

I look at him again, still with a look of anger and disbelief. " So holding back all swear words I look at him and tell him that "He's silly!"

Broken hearted and angry at the flag man I walk out of the office and throw all 17 of my Killkenny Tourist Brochures into the air and they float down, carpeting the platform with information while I walk of teary-eyed.

Only later, to have to go pick them all up and catch a bus .

A long walk..

Due to the fact that all of Ireland is frozen over, literally, traveling by foot has been the only option.

Yesterday I heard about a library in the village and decided to take a walk and go see what I could find. (For some reason I've always loved libraries. Actually I know why; a) I love reading b)I wanted to be a librarian when I grew up). lol.

Turns out that its about 3 miles from my house. This walk is lengthened in time because the sidewalks are still mainly ice-rinks. By the time I reach the library, my face is frozen because its about 30 degrees outside. Happy to have reached the library, I'm not quite as happy to read the sign on the door that says its only open Thursday-Sat. And today, is wednesday. Daft!

Staring at the sign and reading it repeatedly, doesn't change the fact that its still not Thursday. So I turn around and walk about a mile back into town to find something warm to drink. I find the only cafe in town and head in for a cup of hot chocolate. I'm standing here at the counter and the kind lady asks what I would like. Unfortunately, I've forgotten that I've spent the last 45 minutes in below freezing weather and all of the speech musculature related to my face is frozen. Hence the confused look on her face when I try and say "hot chocolate," but it comes out "hhntch chkulghut."

I think the lady was probably just as surprised as I was. But somehow, seeing as their menu is small, she understands what I said and asks if I want whipped cream. Almost too afraid of what else will come out, I shake my head and pass on the whipped cream. (An unforgivable act if my father were around. Note: When my father is asked about whipped cream at Baskin Robbins, his answer once was, 'if you can get the whipped cream to reach the ceiling, I'll give you an extra dollar').

Sitting down with my hot chocolate in one hand and my book in the other. I'm content for nearly 2 hours. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to me, a storm has come to Kildare adding three inches of snow and a near white-out to the village. Leaving the cafe, I find this out and smile at the fact that I have a 2 mile walk home.

Of course.

The Differences...#1

The differences are endless between everyday things in Ireland and everyday things in America...

I have loads of them to share, but seeing that its 1:49 am, I think I'll limit it to cooking my pizza in the oven. Walked into town today (my village) and bought a frozen pizza for dinner. I ended up walking home in the dark and on sidewalks that could have been mistaken for a very long, concrete ice-skating rinks.

I unwrapped the pizza and read the back of the box to get the instructions. Heat 190 degrees Celsius. Ok, got it.

I look on the oven so I can turn it to "BAKE," but there are no such letters on the dial. Instead, there are four pictures; I see a light bulb-- This most likely means the oven light-- ok, good. Next comes a fan-looking picture-- not sure why I'd want a fan in the oven if I'm trying to COOK something, but that's fine. The next picture looks like a piece of notebook paper. Notebook paper!? Paper doesn't belong in the oven. That screams fire to me; so I decide not to use the paper option. The last option is a square that has a snowflake and a rain drop in it. Water options? If I'm trying to COOK a pizza why do I want it to rain and snow inside the oven?

At this point, I'm not sure the better of all the evils, so I pick the fan, which seems like it couldn't hurt too much and luckily enough...my pizza gets cooked. Extra cheese. And why they have snowflakes, raindrops, and notebook paper on their dial, well I'll just have to ask my local Irish friend. I've been working on deciphering the Irish accent, but little did I know I'd be deciphering the oven dial as well!

The pizza turned out great...fan and all.

Until next time...and more updates on differences...

Amusing Anecdote...

I was boarding the plane in Newark New Jersey and on my way to Rochester, New York. I'm standing in the boarding line and we're all having our passes checked before heading down the jet way, the long tunnel-like things that takes you to the plane. The lady in front of me has two carry-on luggage pieces and makes a stern remark to the airline attendant that her rolly luggage bag MUST be on the plane with her. As it has her "medications" in it, and she can't -- get on the plane without them.

The disinterested flight attendant checks her ticket and flags her by. I follow her through the door way and immediately hear, "Where do we go?" I look up and see the obvious long terminal that always leads to the door of the plane, and a side staircase that looks like it goes down to nowhere.

The staircase also has red ribbon across it that repetitively states, "DO NOT CROSS. Do not cross. Do not cross."

The only thing that I could muster up to say to this confused lady was, "Go to where you think the plane might be."

She headed down the obvious corridor and soon after says, "Well, this is a good sign, I'm hearing voices."

At this point, I didn't know if it was a sign we were getting closer to the plane- or if she needed to take her "medication."

lol.

anecdote n. A short account of an interesting or humorous incident.

This blog will simply be a series of amusing anecdotes while my adventures unfold abroad...I hope they`re enjoyable to read...because they were most likely enjoyable to experience first hand.