"If it swells, ride it!" Surf Saturdays and Swedish Cinema

The week after Halloween was mostly spent trying to recovering and floundering to get things done. There's really nothing worse than days where you get absolutely nothing done, whether because you're lazy or things just aren't coming together, it doesn't matter. Adding to feeling guilty about not checking off my to-do list, I was also getting really panicky about how little time I had left in Ireland. The combination of frustration and panic let me to sign up to participate in Surf Saturday, sponsored by the UCC surf club. Guilt and panic will get you to do some pretty crazy things sometimes. So on Wednesday at 1300 I met my friend Jessie and we signed up to surf.

As I walked home from college Friday evening, I had every intention of making myself some dinner and curling up in bed watching a movie. But, as I turned on the hob (what they call the stove) I received a text message from my neighbor inviting me over for dinner with the Swedes and then an evening of jazz. Oh, why not, I thought. Dinner was great. Ian made a tasty pasta dish and garlic bread and we all sat around and chatted. Around 9 we headed into town and I finally asked, so where are we going. Apparently, Mikael had heard of a screening of some Swedish silent film accompanied by a jazz improve group. Maybe I should have realized how weird it would be just from that quick description.

Upon arriving at the pub everything seemed pretty normal, music bumping, drinkings being poured, and the dull roar of chit-chat. We quickly vacated the normal area of the pub and headed upstairs to find seats. The movie started soon enough and then things really started getting weird. The band made groaning noises as the grim reaper crept across the screen. Although, the movie is famous for it's quality special effects the story was a little bit too creepy for my liking. As the band played the plot was unveiled. According to a Swedish legend, the last person to die each year, instead of going to heaven/hell, is forced to become the grim reaper for the entire rest of the year. This as you can imagine, isn't very pleasant. Neither was watching it.

Maybe I'm just not artistically minded enough, but when at one point a techie bumped the computer and the DVD player read "1:40:27" remaining I about had a heart attack. How was I going to get out of this living artsy hell? About 5 minutes passed (slowly) when the bass player in the band got up and left the room. Well if he can leave, then I definitely can! And so I did. Outside I ran into a friend of mine and we got a pint in Preacher's, a pub known for it's classic rock playlists. Heck, I'd take drunk Irish boys dancing to ACDC over freaky Swedish silent movies any day of the week!

Garretstown Beach on a much sunnier day!

Surf Saturday 11/13. Proof that no one looks good in a hood

The next morning I woke up, packed my backpack, and headed off to Garretstown near Kinsale for my first surfing lesson. Like all Irish boys, our surfing instructor's name was Shane. My lesson group consisted of all female UCC students who were equally nervous about plunging into the cold water over and over again while attempting to stand on a foam surf board and so we took baby steps. First? We splashed around in the water and practiced catching waves like on a boogie board, spreading our arms like an airplane, and steering the board left and right. But then it was time to actually learn how to surf. It's definitely a skill that one has to develop. I took many impressive tumbles and Shane told me I might have a career as a knee-boarder! I did stand up for maybe a nanosecond, something I bragged about throughout the whole car ride home.

Although, I wasn't the most successful surfer and it was colder than cold, it was really a blast to get to know some Irish students, get out of Cork for a bit, and just play at the beach! When I got home late that afternoon exhaustion and cold took hold and I didn't leave my bed except to make the soup I had planned for the night before!

Despite being miserably cold and ingesting a serious amount of salt water, I enjoyed my first Surf Saturday enough to sign up again the next week, this time with my Swedish friend, Hannah. I knew it was going to be a good day when during the time we waited for the cars to load I had laughed more than I had all week. This week the lesson group was made up of different UCC students, one of which was named Ian who hails from Belgium. He's the kind of guy who laughs loudly at his own jokes, but his laugh is so great that it makes everyone else laugh too. Trying to be smart (at 8:30 am, never a good idea) the following embarrassing interaction occurred:

Ditzy American celebrating a successful day of surfing

A: "Oh, you're from Belgium? My roommate is Belgian!"
I: "Really? What language does she speak?"
A: (trying to sound smart) "Belgian...not Flemmish."
I: "Um. Neither of those are languages."
A: "Shit! I meant French, she speaks French. But I thought Flemmish was a language?"
I: "Actually it's a dialect and region. Good try though!"

I tried to laugh it off, claiming that my brain doesn't function in the AM, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. Flustered I tried to climb into the car and get a back seat so I wouldn't have to awkwardly sit shotgun

Silly surfers eating latte foam with their fingers!

The whole day lived up to every expectation. I stood up on my board multiple times (and each time for more than 5 seconds!), made some new friends, listened to bad music ("Whip My Hair" being the tune of choice) and laughed more than I thought would be possible under such harsh conditions! I spent the rest of the day thawing, but unlike the previous Saturday I rallied for a wild night out at Crane Lane.

Because the I couldn't imagine a third Saturday of waking up early to freeze my butt off, I took a two week long surfing hiatus to prepare myself mentally and physically for the big surf weekend trip to Dingle, but that adventure deserves a post of its own!