Dublin was simply extraordinary. Trekking through the crowded city streets, half aware of where I was. The weekend remains extremely vivid in my memory..hopefully it will always be so. Sitting here now at the Prince of Whales back in Oxford, it seems as if those blissful memories belong to someone else..for they are almost to great. The much to luxurious hotel/the long excursion to the Guiness factory (which I could write another five paragraphs about..so I will settle for the highight which was the the free pint many stories in the sky, overlooking Dubin city. There was a moment Saturday night when I found my way to the park that holds the memorial of Oscar Wilde. I was undeterred when I noticed that the park had shut down for the day. Greatful for all the hours in gym, I easily hopped the high black gates into the silent park, moving stealthily among the bushes til I emerged onto a main path. Upon standing straight, my eyes were introduced to the statue of Oscar Wilde laying lazily upon a massive rock..an amused look playing across his face. It took me a few moments to collect myself enough to snap a few photos. After the pictures were secure, I stood with my eyes trained on his, in complete awe of life.

I was a slightly dismayed at the shortness of my Ireland trip..mainly because I never made it out to the famous rolling, green hills. Three days was barely enough time to conquor the city of Dublin. I plan to go back as soon as that option is possible..for I had some of the best moments of my life over those glorious days. Standing in the center of Dublin, staring out beyond the river that runs through it. Not to mention spending the evenings in the pacted pubs, cheering loudly along with the locals to the futbol game. The Irish stayed true to their stereotype of kindness. A friendly lot they all were.

One life to another.

In pursuing grand endeavors, one will always crash into hardship. I knew that this trip would be close to nothing as I imagined. I also knew that rough times might occur just as much as unforgettable ones. People usually dodge hardship on "vacations" and the likes because small trips can be planned out completely, with almost no error. The norm for a vacation comprises of living well and briefly in as many areas as possible. Vacations are nice yes, but do not do much in regards to cracking our shells that keep us from feeling other cultures. There is no chance for an full understanding of another way of life when your just passing through. Plush hotel rooms will keep you close to home and far from truth. My mistake has been the idea that this trip was to be a vacation of some sort. I realized this folly upon frying pan bang that came with the complete immerse into English lifestyle. It's been a shocking experience that I hadn't given much prior thought too. In my pompous days before leaving, I jested over the joy I felt towards leaving a car behind me. These past few day's of being utterly lost in the cold, unsympathetic streets has made me think otherwise. I have wandered hours into the wrong direction, cursing myself for my lack of awareness. Yet, how ridiculous to blame myself! As if I should know these streets like I know the ones at home is one example of the mindset I am trying to purge myself of. It's been entirely humbling to walk into a convenient store, explain my hopeless situation, and let someone help me...no matter how much it kills my foolish pride. Once I get my bearings I believe I will feel more comfortable about all of this..and I sure as hell appreciate the car I have at home.

So..public transportation has been somewhat of a difficulty thus far. On the account that I live furthest from town and school than anyone else has been bothersome as well. In order to remedy the trouble I have had, I adventured to buy bike this morning. Everything seemed absolutely perfect as I cruised from town to school with little effort and time. That was until the expensive bike's pedals snapped off in the middle of the main road. I was launched directly into the path of a bus, who God thank you slammed its breaks on and didn't end my life right then. I write all this with a weary smirk, trying to laugh at how it might of looked. Scraped up with too much adrenaline, I walked the hour home..no money for a bus or cab. I do not mean to sound ungrateful. On the contrary, I am glad to experience the beautiful and the ugly here. It is in both that a life can change.
Basically, this is no vacation or trip. It is change from one life to another, where beauty and ugly come in all different forms.

Oxford.

I have written about five potential blogs over the past few days of my arrival in Oxford. I laughed aloud after I had given them a glance over. Never have I been so exhausted and emotional on electronic paper.. my thoughts were completely obscure while my mechanics suffered more than I'd like to admit. This is to say that though I have only been in Oxford for four days, my time here has revived my emotional capacity to a level that I am not comfortable with. I have been sobbing like a wild baby these past few afternoons, making an awful inky mess of tears and scribble into my journal. My tears however, have not been from homesickness ( though i do love and miss my family)..but from joy. I am not the sort of guy to cry from joy nor from anything actually. And if I did, I would never admit it to a soul. You can imagine what this contradiction might look like..a massive American walking down the streets of Oxford..an eerie, uncontrollable grin playing across his face while tears stream down his cheeks. I've scared more than a handful.

To explain further..it will help to understand that my days have been filled with inspiring adventure/emotional revival. Yesterday after a few pints at the White Horse, I joined in a game of rugy with some freindly 'mates' at Brookes Univeristy. I spent the rest of the day lost in Oxford/Cowley/Blackbird Leys/Headington/ city for three hours, wandering streets and bus jumping. After that thriling trek, it suffices to say that I will not be getting lost again anytime soon. Today I sat on a bench outside of Magdalen University, eating a panini and reading Lewis's 'The Abolition of Man'. I welled up as a fountain does when I stood up, produced my camera, and took a photo of the housing structure where C.S Lewis lived. Things like that are possible in this city. Tomorrow I plan to head to the University where I'll study, rock climb, work out, have a pint on the patio, and trek back to Oxford City to dine and enjoy a few drinks. Not bad for a Tuesday.

I originally planned to fill these blogs with the most intimate details of my trip. Now on second thought, I find that details such as those are better kept in my journal, memory, and heart. The basic outline will do just fine for everyone else. I am interested to see if I'll stop crying however. Right now I am sitting in the pub near my house, all alone in the back room with a pint of Carling. The bar tender is cleaning glasses while a few locals drink, banter, and watch football. I have my book and journal in sight..maybe you can see why I can't stop smiling and crying.