Back in Action

Hello, wonderful people who read this page. I'm a bit rusty with blogging, as it's been over a FULL YEAR since my last post on this site, formerly 'Adventures in Galway'. Where has the time gone? In the past year since then, I've experienced a multitude of stories in Philadelphia, Arkansas, Vietnam, and Montana. I will get around to telling them someday.

In the off chance you've stumbled upon this post without knowing already, I am about to begin a volunteer year in El Paso, Texas. Any posts before this one are about my semester studying at the National University of Ireland, Galway, where I adventured around the country, as well as briefly to Vienna, London, and Scotland. You can check out this page to see where else I've been in the past couple years, as well as where I'd like to go.

I officially confirmed today that I'll be taking the position in El Paso, and while I don't leave for another month and a half, I was so excited about making it 100% for real that I went overboard in getting the blog spruced up for its new chapter. I likely won't be posting more than once or twice between now and when I leave, but I will be tracking my summer writing goals here, if you'd like to check that out and make me feel guilty whenever there's a gap.

In addition to writing and reading fiction, I plan to spend my summer brushing up on Spanish, delving into any articles or information about border life, and otherwise preparing for the coming year. If you live in El Paso and have ideas about community service projects for High Schoolers, live anywhere else and have experience with migration issues, or just want to say hi and good luck, (or even bye and good riddance), please leave me a comment! I love getting feedback.

Thanks for coming along, I promise it'll be an adventure.

Goodbye to Galway (for now)

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.

For the Kindness of Strangers

Never talk to strangers, everyone always says. That's true when you're in the dark and alone, vulnerable and they're offering you candy from a broken shady van, and it is likely not advisable to run away with someone you met on the internet. Yesterday morning, when I finally figured out how to login to my computer after pouring a bowl of vegetable water onto it and killing the keyboard probably forever, I noticed another subscriber and new comment on my blog. As someone who checks the view count religiously, this was a momentous occasion. Even more exciting was that I'd just gained my first follower I hadn't guilted into reading these stories by friendship or familial ties, and the comment was on my newest post. You can read it here, to get an idea of my thought process and imagine my excitement and apprehension.

All read? Okay. So her blog seemed legitimate, a Belgian mother of two and distinctively not murderous.  Still, with my dad's recent advice to 'not do anything reckless' these last few days echoing in my head, I got in touch with a friend here, who eagerly agreed to come with me on this adventure, talked to Katleen on the phone and was assured she 'wasn't an axe murderer', and we decided to head out and see what happened. Since Bus Eireann is still on strike, we took the train and met her in Gort, from where I'd walked to Coole Park last week. I'd vaguely been thinking about doing the same to reach Thoor Ballylee, but after taking the nearly 10-minute drive down winding and confusing country roads, I was extraordinarily glad to have had the lift. Thoor Ballylee itself is somewhat less impressive than the many other large and commanding castles dotting the Irish countryside, but for me, having legendarized it mentally by it's remoteness but relative nearness to Galway city, finally reaching the tower I'd seen on so many Google Image searches was a thrill. I've become quite a fan of W.B. Yeats this semester, so reaching the tower and place that was such a source of inspiration for his poetry was nothing short of fantastic.

Still, as exciting as it was to reach Thoor Ballylee at long last, I think if I'd walked a full hour to get there and then had to turn around and do the same in the pouring rain, I might not have felt like it was worth it. The building itself was closed down due to damage by flooding two years ago, and despite hopes of finding a caretaker with a key to let us in, we were restricted to looking up at it, taking a few photos, and then wandering the grounds and worn footpaths near rivers and other crumbling old buildings. Even cooler than the architecture and surrounding land, though, was talking to our good Samaritan herself. She said her husband thought she was crazy to offer, but had been helped out by many others in the past during her travels across the US, and wanted to return the favor. Listening to her stories about travelling years ago, taking others up on their offer to 'come visit if you ever end up in the area' were heartening because it gave me hope of reconnecting with the strangers I've met on my travels who cease to become strangers and turn into friends.

There is such greatness in big sorts of random acts of kindness like offering transport to a complete stranger, but also in the little ones that are easier but often overlooked. On the train over, my friend lost her phone under the seat and couldn't find it- the woman sitting across from us suggested I use my own 'mobile to ring her', and when I was out of credit offered up her own for the short call. The phone was found, and she went back to her nap. When I returned home, I found a similar story as well as I listened to the tales of my two roommates who'd just returned from a weekend in Italy. They'd been taken to the town where one of their grandfathers had grown up, also by a stranger they had just met at a restaurant who happened to know where it was nearby. She'd planned to get as close as she could, but didn't expect to actually make it there, but through the kindness of strangers did make it at last. 

On the platform waiting for our train to leave, my travel companion and I talked about what sort of things we wanted to take back from this study abroad experience- not physical souvenirs (even though I really need to get those soon), but mental reminders or changes to make in our 'real' lives back home. I can think of several, but an important one right now is the necessity not to burn bridges, to remember that every person has a story and something to offer, and that by trusting and giving and learning from each other it'll make the rest of the journey that much better. I'm headed home soon, but I'm going to do my best to keep this sense of adventure running even as I look to explore other cities across the United States. A quote I kept thinking about last night, which now Google tells me is weirdly enough from the Simpsons version of the play my school just put on back home, the first I've missed since being at La Salle, is that a stranger is a friend you haven't met yet. I like to think that's true.

The Mountain of Transition

I haven't written very much these past few days, mostly because there hasn't been a ton to write about. This has been due to a combination of preposterous bus schedules, bad weather, general listlessness, and the need to be around in Galway for a few sad goodbyes to my friends here. I'm at the sad and strange place where I would love to be home right this moment, but I also love Ireland so much and I can't imagine living the rest of my life not here and without all of the incredible people I never knew existed before three/four months ago. Now when I check the weather forecasts, which are all but pointless in Ireland (caught in a downpour today, it was brilliantly sunny five minutes before and after said storm), I can also look ahead to see what it'll be like the first few days I'm back in the states. I've traveled far away before, but never for this length of time, and never to a place where I can confidently say I explored every in and out little back alley, that is now most definitely another home.

Before I came to Ireland, and during the beginning of my time here, I was really nervous about not going with anyone I knew from La Salle or anywhere else. I've never been overly confident in my friend-making ability, which is silly because I've managed to wrangle a few spectacular ones over the years, but the prospect was really daunting: four months in someplace you don't know with people you don't know, go have fun! But I did, I've had the time of my life, and now as these relationships are coming to a pause I'm finally reflecting on how much I've needed them this semester. I didn't blog about it much, but I got off to a bit of a rough start and was very much in need of good friends in January and early February. I found support and kindness in a few girls from a school in Wisconsin, who I journeyed with to London and other Irish cities (Cork and Dublin), and one in particular who was my constant travel companion to Vienna, Scotland, and many other short trips. I saw her off to Germany a few days ago, and last night had another hard goodbye to two very close friends who go to school in California and were heading out to explore Italy and France. I met them through my roommates, who I can say without a doubt saved my study-abroad experience. I haven't said 'real goodbye' to the three of them yet, but will soon, and as people leave one by one it's very difficult to be cheerful, no matter how many beautiful rolling green fields I hike through or baby lambs trot towards me. (This might be a stretch- I think if a dozen tiny lambs ran to me right now all sad thoughts would be gone for a while, it's impossible to be miserable while cuddling a baby sheep.)

I know I should probably be keeping busy to take my mind off of leaving, both the anxious anticipation and creeping dread, but it's been tricky to find the motivation to just up and travel alone. I tried to get to Clonmacnoise monastary a few days ago with one of the USC girls who's just left, planning to take a cool viking ship ride down the river and arrive in affordable style. However, by the time we reached the departure point, we were informed that the weather prevented the boat from going out that day. We couldn't come back again, since we'd paid to get out there, and taking a taxi would have been twice the price of our original planned trip. It was discouraging, but we decided to make the best of it and spent the afternoon in Athlone exploring their castle. It's funny how jaded I've become regarding castles, something that would have made me jump out of my skin in excitement back home has become ordinary, preposterous if it costs more than 5 euro to enter, and a let down if it appears to be restored to any extent past keeping the stone walls from tumbling down.

At this point, what's realistic of my next five to six days in Galway is that I'll hike in Connemara one more time, perhaps find my way to Thoor Ballylee at long last, walk along the bay a lot, trek to Salthill, listen to the musicians on Shop Street, go to mass in the Cathedral, dig for treasure in Charlie Byrnes bookshop, get one more donut man piece of heaven, pack up my things and say goodbye for now. I didn't intend this post to be so wistful when I started out, that was supposed to hold off until the last post, but since I'm here now I'm going to mention a statement that's incredibly true and important to remember in times like this. When I was leaving Tanzania, one of the students who had become particularly close with our group gave a goodbye speech, and as we were all crying, explained that it would be okay because, 'only mountains cannot meet again'. For my friends I'm leaving here, the ones I've already left scattered around the globe, and everyone who's about to graduate, we'll meet again. I'll move mountains to make sure it happens.

Cool Parts of Coole Park

After several days of 'slothing' around my apartment and having a few seemingly well-thought out plans fall through, today I ventured off to Coole Park and the former estate of Lady Augusta Gregory, friend and muse of one William Butler Yeats. I've studied Yeats extensively this year, mostly through my 20th Century Literature Class (that feels like a century ago), but also a little bit through my own readings and museum findings. His brother, Jack Yeats, was a prolific painter who boats a huge exhibition at the local (and free) Galway Museum. Anyway, all semester I've been trying to get to Thoor Ballylee, Yeat's monument and tower located in the middle of County Galway, which you would think is an easy enough commute, but not so.

Public transportation in Ireland is great: CityLink or GoBus will get you to any of the big cities and a lot of the tourist destinations for a pretty good price, and BusEireann or a few smaller services are very effective for bouncing around to more places off the beaten trail. I've used the train once, as well. But for all of these wonderful options, there are a lot of places that are only accessible by car, limousine or horse and buggy. On Monday we scrapped plans to visit Clonmacnoise (but will go tomorrow!) because we'd have had to take an expensive taxi, and yesterday I needed to skip a livingsocial cruise deal around the littlest Aran Island and under the Cliffs of Moher because there was legitimately no way to leave the port town after 1:45 in the afternoon without your own magical transport. Thestrals are out, flumes are underappreciated, and I've still got a ways to go in my teleportation skills. So Thoor Ballylee is no exception of a hard-to-get-to but worthwhile place, 5km walking distance from a town called Gort.

I didn't reach it today, although I found out at the very end of the excursion that there had been a sign for the tower near where we'd been traipsing around all day, which was a bit heartbreaking, but it doesn't necessarily mean that I absolutely can't make it back out there sometime next week. At 10 euro for a return student ticket, Gort is very nicely accessible from Galway and easily doable in a day. Coole Park itself was a 3km walk- a little bit under 2 miles, and when we set out that morning the weather was looking extremely temperamental  It's always a gamble trying to do anything in Ireland outdoors, which is frustrating at times because it's a very outdoors-y sort of place, but today we definitely lucked out. It drizzled all during the bus ride out, was mostly sunny through our walk to and around the estate, and poured while we were sitting under a covered waiting area to get on the bus back to Galway.

The place itself was really a gem, something we'd stumbled upon as a plan at 2 am the night before despite always having been vaugely in the back of my mind as a maybe destination at some point in the semester. (The problem is, 'sometime' is quickly becoming a very narrow window). Filled with beautiful green trees and boulders and wildflowers, all of the recent rain had done wonders for the natural spring feel, smell and look of the gardens. In the walled garden, we found a few pretty gazebos and an enormous old tree that had been 'autographed' by many of Lady Gregory's now famous friends. She asked them to carve their initials into the bark, almost all of which are still visible and easily identifiable. I'm not the biggest Yeats fan for all of my obsession with reaching his tower, but it was still pretty cool to see the letters he etched away right distinctly there in front of me. Throughout the park, there were little placards indicating what portion of the trail we were on, how they inspired various poems of Yeats, and excerpts from respective writing about those locations.

In general, it was just a very good day trip, one of those spontaneous ones that work out really well. It was a lot of walking and my feet are blistered yet again, but I really enjoyed it. I kept exclaiming at how 'cool' everything was and then pretending that I'd just made some very witty never-before-heard pun. Likely not, but it was effective and fitting. We lunched on a 'cool' old stone bench in the shade of a gigantic-branched tree that fairies definitely live under (it was surrounded by a ring of similarly gargantuan trunks), happened upon a winding river and lots of mossy groves, as well as an odd-looking statue bust wearing a cardigan tied around his shoulders. The visitor's center was free, and included recreated rooms from the old Coole house, based off of a memoir written by Lady Gregory's grandchildren and their time wandering and exploring the grounds like only little girls can do. It included artifacts from the family as well as famous visitors (Yeats included) and was staffed by two very friendly women. School groups were there the same day as us, which is always a funny concept to think about- Irish kids going on field trips to all of these places I've been attempting to reach over a semester.

It was a very cool day, and one I'm glad to have experienced! Hopefully, the weather and buses will hold up a bit more reliably during my now last week here. Keep checking back, we're in the final stretch now.

Lonely 'Round the Fields

I would like to preface this by admitting that I can't properly spell 'fields', I instinctively go for 'feilds' and it is only the little red squiggly line and the memory of a friend's mocking correction on the day I'm about to describe that prevents me from doing so above. I before E has failed me, the exceptions to that supposed golden rule always make me second guess myself- 'does it sound like neighbor or weigh?'

But anyway, a few days ago I took another little Irish day trip to the nearby-ish town of Athenry, almost purely off of the desire to see the location so romanticized in my favorite Irish tune: The Fields of Athenry. If you haven't heard it, you should go click that YouTube now and let it play as you read the rest of this post. And if you know it well and love it, still click and listen anyway and hum along for the fun of it, because it's so pretty and heartbreaking. We got there by train, the first time I've taken such transportation in Ireland over a coach bus, which is also definitely my favorite way to travel, hands down. It's a fairly small town, characterized by being an intact, well-preserved medieval city. Much of the inner circle is modernized and fully functioning, but it's still surrounded by a centuries-old stone wall, sports a gorgeous monastery, neat castle with free video and 1 euro admission, creepy cemetery and is, of course, surrounded by fields. Much of Ireland is farmland or rolling hills so that's not really a surprise or anything particularly exceptional, but I set out that day with the solid intention of belting 'Fields of Athenry' in the middle of a field of Athenry, with my friends or by myself if necessary.

The first place we stopped at in the town was an old cemetery and church. Creepy enough to wander through on a cloudy afternoon, the atmosphere was made significantly more frightening when I creaked open the door of the large stone cathedral to be greeted with the silhouette of a kneeling hooded monk. Part of an exhibit about the area's history, seeing an ancient holy man in front of a glowing stained glass window was a bit of a shock. I don't really think the woman working the tickets to the exhibit quite appreciated my running out as fast as I could and forcing my two friends to repeat my slow-opening shock experience. But to be fair, I didn't see her/know there was a live person in the building and there is absolutely no way we were the first people to have that reaction to the figure.

So she was a bit standoffish, and we decided to forego an interactive dress-up exhibit about old Athenry and instead ventured to the nearby castle. Everything in the town was really extraordinarily walk-able and after enjoying the castle, we were given wonderfully helpful advice by the curators of the building on how to find a really great field. (Yes, this does mean that I awkwardly asked the woman working behind the counter where I could find some fields. I think they get it a lot- the town certainly was capitalizing on the song, anyway.) So they pointed us toward a holy well, where it is said that Mary appeared to give comfort to the dying on a battlefield there years before. Each year on August 15th there is a gathering of faithful who process out of that site. It was a really beautiful spot and peaceful garden, and an area we would likely have never known about without the advice of a helpful local.

Getting to the well and back was a little bit of a hike, but provided some very good views of the medieval architecture from afar, enabled us to make more friends with animals, and of course, sing some lovelorn Irish ballads. The Fields of Athenry is a really, really sad song, and I'm not sure why it's my favorite- I'm normally one for upbeat and happy, positive and life affirming. It was one we sang frequently when visiting the local elder care center with Ros Geal house, and the several others we sang there also hold a special place in my memory now because of that. I suppose I identify with it in some way: while I can't at all compare myself to a basically-widowed young woman bidding farewell to her husband as he is shipped away to a prison colony for stealing food for their children, the theme of being far away from home and reminiscing on happy times certainly holds true to me.  It's been rough, mostly lately, being away from school. I have made friends here that are absolutely wonderful individuals, who are now so important to me that I can't imagine not knowing them, which only further cements the idea of never being able to have all the people you want in your life. Or me in my life, I suppose would be more accurate. It's one of the trade offs of global inter-connectivity. With Facebook I have been able to get a hold of anyone, at any time, which is nice but also overwhelming. Maybe having hundreds of photos of my friends having fun right in my face at all hours isn't the healthiest situation while grappling with homesickness.

In the Athenry castle, there were a lot of interesting doors that were always locked when I tried to push or pry or pull them open. I kept trying, though, and was vaguely annoyed when each of my friends opened a similar-looking door on two separate occasions the first time they tried. I never did open one that afternoon, but there is probably an inspirational message there about 'one door closing and another one opening' that I should apply to my life. Transition times always make me anxious, as my parents can agree to each time they pick my cranky self up from school, as do uncertain or hastily changed plans. At the moment I'm struggling with both, but I've seen worse and will certainly be fine getting through. The small free birds are flying above Athenry, and for just now, I'm one of them- and that's pretty nice.

Backlog Blog: Belfast and the Causeway

Regarding the Events and Experiences of April 26th and 27th

In all the travels I've been fortunate enough to experience these past five years, I've never truly disliked a city. Sure, towards the end of my time in Spain I longed for the sound of someone speaking English, let alone American, and there were a few nauseating bus rides in India I wasn't so sure I'd get through without vomiting, but overall I've been quite successful at finding the silver lining or a beautiful piece of culture in each new place I've seen. When I finally arrived in Belfast after a full day journey from Edinburgh involving two buses, a train, and the fanciest ferry (more tiny cruise ship) I've ever seen, it was for some reason in a bad mood and generally untrusting about the existence of Northern Ireland in general. I felt on edge and defensive of my adopted country each time I saw a fluttering Union Jack flag, and critical of each Carroll's tourist trap souvenir shop hawking all manner of bright green paraphernalia.

Maybe it was the explosive history of Belfast that had me on edge, perhaps the extraordinarily bad weather, or even the sketchy and likely unsafe hostel we unfortunately occupied for a night. We found our way to the well-done Ulster Museum a half hour before it closed, sped through a history of The Troubles, and then wandered around in the rain attempting to find either the rumored free Andy Warhol exhibition or the famed peace murals. Unsuccessful on both counts, we retired early with boxed Spar sandwich meals and How I Met Your Mother  on the kitchen TV. So my experiences with Belfast were brief and quite probably unfairly judged. We only planned time for one day in the city itself, shortchanging it's offerings and quite frankly using it as a stopping point before the real landmark we most wanted to see: The Giants Causeway.

Taking a scheduled and structured bus tour has it's perks. We paid a bit more than it would have been to get there via public transportation, but taking that route would have resulted in highways, complicated scheduling, and potentially walking a bit to get to our intended destination. Although it began a bit rough, waiting nearly an hour after our scheduled leaving time in the hopes of picking up a few more paying stragglers, the day turned around quickly. The good parts of a bus tour, then, are the convenience of not needing to navigate complicated schedules, know where to stop to take pretty pictures, and with the added bonus of having a friendly and knowledgeable tour guide. Cheerful and sounding suspiciously-Scottish, he granted us several helpful and interesting tidbits of information, rushed us to a pointless old Brewery at the end for the sole purpose of shopping so I think they had some sort of deal worked out, but overall, I quite enjoyed the day.

There were a few stops before we reached the Causeway itself: a castle at Carrickfergus that I enjoyed mainly because of the song about that town, and the famed Carrick-a-rede rope bridge. Just what it sounded like, the bridge suspended across two large sea rocks. You crossed it slowly, single file with no more than 7 on at a time, gripping for dear life on the handle-rope and feeling very much like Donkey and Shrek as they fled from Fiona's castle. Once crossed, though, the view was perfect and we were able to frolic about in the soft grass on the little island we just reached. Honestly, it was the most comfortable grass I've ever experienced and I laid back and nearly took a little nap right then and there. After a lot of travelling, it would have been quite ideal, but soon enough we were back on our way towards the Causeway, and I was about to check off one final item off my top to see in Ireland mental list.

So the Giant's Causeway, pictured below, is a fascinating natural rock formation that I really can't comprehend but would probably be like Christmas for a geologist or student of similar discipline. For me, I contented myself with gaping across the wide spread of hexagonal rocks, imagining how it got there and trying to remember the legends of Finn McCool (to whom I am potentially related!). I was a bit forewarned before I went not to expect anything spectacularly impressive in the sense of being the best thing I've seen all semester, but that was without merit, and because my expectations had been lowered I think I appreciated it that much more. Walking all over the natural landmark was a treat, far better than standing on the edge of a protective barrier and snapping photos, I played like stepping stones across the way and generally just felt truly privileged to experience the site. It's truly one of the top spots in Ireland (Republic and North combined, I know) and I would recommend it to anyone in a heartbeat.
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And now, I am all caught up, and can get back to the present day posting. I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am- only 12 days left, but I'll try to squeeze as much adventure in there as I can!