A Ticket to Paradise

In mid-July, I booked my one-way ticket to London. I had just applied for my Visa, as I would be needing this if I wanted to have any chance at ever becoming a citizen of Europe. although I spent the entire day of summer working and making preparations to say my final farewell, the fateful September day still came far sooner than I had anticipated. this would be the day that I would depart for the better part of 2 years, save the occasional visit to friends and family. Call a trial separation, if you will, from the land that I had called home for the first 23 years of my life. 

Waiting in the airport for several hours leading up to the flight was enough to drive anybody mad. However, I would soon arrive in England for the first time, after a six-hour long sleep-deprived layover in Reykjavik, and nearly forty hours of sleeplessness. Ten hours and five time zones later, I would be landing in Heathrow Airport for the first time ever, to begin the beginning of the rest of my life.

I met my first roommate, Austin, barely an hour into my first journey in Europe’s third biggest city (right behind St. Petersburg and Istanbul). He was happy to see me, and we embraced for a solid minute. We had no idea how to navigate public transport at this time, though, so we ended up taking whatever bus we Thought would get us to campus in a decent enough fashion.

After getting off at a random stop, still a twenty-minute walk from campus, we decided to call an Uber. It was dark out, and somebody had thrown an egg in our direction (which shattered against the bus stop’s window), so we wanted to get out of there fast. Security had no idea who we were upon arrival, but we were able to get a spare room until ours were ready in the morning. Austin crashed on the floor with his sheets, and I passed out for nine straight hours on my bed.

When I woke, I realized that I would be beginning the next step in the journey I call my life – I now spent the first night in my new home base for at least the next two years.

Rock of Cashells

The Rock of Cashel is a historic sight that goes back to the 4th century. Here's an abridged snippet of the history I learned at the spot.

Latin high crosses are first found here. The word Cashel comes from "castle" in Latin. The fort itself was built from the ecclesiastical side in the 4th century and then taken over by royalty. They were Clannacht, and they were an Irish clan of high kings. O'neals then came in after them and took over. Bryan Brew took kingship 1002. The chapel was consecrated in 1134. King Cormack McCarty built the chapel. there's also winding staircases. The holes in building were used for scaffolding. The church inside built in 13th century, and stoop until Cromwell arrived in 1650 and butchered everyone in the church as the massacre of Cashel.

From the outside.

The dilapidated cathedral.

This also was the area of one of the first credit cards, where the people serving the archbishop had their food paid for in the village below. Guards on duty in the round tower easily could see over the dense forest that surrounded the St. Patrick's Rock. and of course, in the choir loft, there were leper's squints, so that diseased individuals could still inadvertently participate in the church services.

So after having sung and performed in both a medieval castle, three old churches of over 800 years old, and singing in a thousand year old stronghold, i felt very satisfied. But yet, nothing was quite as fantastic as having the opportunity to try sheep's milk and goat cheese for the first time. Though I still prefer cow's milk and cheese to the aforementioned, and I prefer the vegan alternative to both of them, it had a very unique and creamy consistency. It is definitely worth the try, whether it be ice cream like my mates did or a latte like I had. Only at the Rock of Cashel. Come by and visit today!