I've been home for almost exactly one week now, and have been thinking about how to write the perfect wrap-up post for roughly the same amount of time. It's coming this weekend, I promise, but until then, I wanted to write a little bit about how things have been since writing last and getting back to the grand old US of A.
My last full day in Galway was perfection: with my roommate, I hit up all of my favorite places in Ireland, all of which were conveniently located within walking distance from my apartment. We walked down to Galway bay and looked at all of the pretty colored houses. I got another water-bottle full of sand from the beach to add to my international collection, and looked across the gorgeous landscape and wished I'd walked around my own temporary home city a little bit more. The swans floated across the river and greeted us with their usual aloofness (although I had annoyed a father of several adorable cygnets by following them paparazzi-style earlier) and I reflected on the earlier times that semester I'd walked to that same lookout point, alone and with others to share in the moments of utter peace offered overlooking the water.
We finished up gift shopping, where I was pleased with my frugal and tasteful purchases, went to Taffe's pub (home of Irish music! Although they all say that, this one was a favorite) and sipped on one last Guinness and people-watched as Shop Street was beginning to fill up with tourists from around the world. The sight of middle-aged Americans carrying gift bags decorated in cartoon sheep was a giveaway that summer had officially arrived, even if the weather hadn't quite caught up with the months. Later, after it had finished pouring and we pulled ourselves away from the newly-unlocked Netflix and How I Met Your Mother, we meandered down to the always-underwhelming yet still cozy in it's decrepitude Spanish Arch and talked about life. I'd recently gotten hard news from a close friend back home, and was finally coming to terms with closing out this chapter in my story. When it began to drizzle again, we fled 10 steps away and stood under the arch with a group of likely unemployed musicians who were drinking and strumming, complaining and joking with each other. My roommate and I decided that it was a wholly Irish moment (sorry for the stereotypes), booked it over to the Charcoal grill for one more serving of heavenly taco fries and then headed home for packing and goodbyes.
The goodbyes, the last of many I'd been making that week, were difficult because this time, it wasn't me wishing my friends well on another exotic European adventure or promising they'd have a great time at home. This time, it was me leaving for good, and it had taken a long time to sink in, no matter how anxiously I checked on my countdown clock to seeing my family at the airport. As I trundled my obnoxious amount of luggage down the the Galway coach station and bid farewell to the last friend on a rainy corner of Eyre Square, I truly did take in the it was my last time seeing all of the sights I'd become so very accustomed to, at least for a long time. All that week and even day, I kept telling myself that I wasn't leaving until 1am the next morning, that I could surely run back out to such and such street corner one more time if I really wanted to, but getting on the bus and watching the very familiar countryside slip away it felt very, very real, and I couldn't wait to get home. If I couldn't have Ireland anymore, I at least wanted Jersey.
I ended up arriving at the airport two and a half hours before I was even allowed to check in, was delayed from boarding an extra 45 minutes, and once I made it home loitered around the baggage claim an extra half hour waiting for my things without realizing that my loved ones were about 20 steps away waiting for me. My first sight off of the plane was a place called GUINNESS: IRISH PUB decorated with a lovely Toucan, and I actually almost went to the wrong side of the car to get home. Still, my sister brought me a Boost and soft pretzel, I fought off jetlag long enough to go to bed around 9pm (2am in Ireland without sleeping the night before), and the rest of the weekend was wonderful as well.
Whenever anyone asks me the inescapable "So how was Ireland?", I bite back trying to persuade them to read this blog or see all my pictures, and almost always reply with the same: "It was wonderful, I loved it so much, but it's good to be home too." It's impossible to sum this semester up in a short conversation frequently initiated by social expectations, but to those of you who have read this now, and maybe some of the previous posts besides, you know what I'm talking about, and for that, am very so grateful.
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