Call me crazy, but one of the things I enjoy most about being in Cork is walking to and from class- not because I'm excited to go to class, but because I just love being out in the city. The past few days the weather has been beautiful - in the 50s, sunny, not windy, just gorgeous, and today was no different. I had class at 2, and I just really enjoyed my walk home. I was with Paige until I hit Grand Parade, where we bumped into our friend Joanie and chatted for a while next to the fountain about weekend plans. Skye and her boyfriend Mike, who's visiting this week, came along as well, and we all had a few laughs before going our separate ways. I crossed Grand Parade and began to make my way along Oliver Plunkett. This is the street that I invariably walk on every day, no matter where I go, whether to class or out at night. It's a pedestrianized street; there's only one-way traffic at certain times of the day - never a constant flow of cars (a lot like Church St. for my VTers). As I begin making my way down the street, the sun is warm on the backs of my legs; there's a flower shop on my right, and I can smell its sweet aroma as I walk by on the opposite side of the street. The Brog, the infamous pub, I pass on my left, weaving through the small but ever-present crowd of smokers standing out front. I've learned to hold my breath when I pass by, but this leaves my first inhale falling as I pass the entrance to the English Market, where I'm blasted by the strong odor of fresh fish. I keep walking, past Euro 2 (it's like a dollar store, but eveything's 2 euros), and now I start to people watch. There's usually a good number of people out in the afternoons here, and today's no different- no sign of the economic troubles to be seen, except that every store is having massive sales!
The people in Cork, as in any city I suppose, vary widely. There are groups of students in their private school windbreaker uniforms, insignia attached; old hunched men slowly making their way down the street with a cane, or sitting on anything they can find and squinting through thick glasses at the people quickly passing them by; trashy women in track suits; more respectable moms (or dads) pushing adorable babies in giant buggies; businessmen walking briskly in suits and nice shoes; young Irish guys in their typical outfit of a nice sweater and athletic-type pants (I find this look quite strange. It's like they can't decide if they want to be casual or dressy, so they do both - even out in the pubs!); and I swear every third person is smoking.
At this point, there's a lot of people on the sidewalk, and since I'm a fast walker and don't much enjoy weaving through slow-moving mobs, I take to the center of the street as I usually do - don't worry, it's one of the times of day when cars aren't allowed, and even if they were, it's quite easy to avoid them! I pass by two Italian looking guys taking a photo with a cheesy grin in front of something stereotypically Irish and chuckle to myself. I'm getting pretty good at picking out who's not Irish, and I'm being mistaken for being Irish more often. (Quick side story: I was out at a bar Saturday night, talking to a guy, and I asked if he was from Cork. He wasn't - he was from Co. Laois, so I told him I was from the States, and wasn't it obvious? He looked at me quizzically and said he didn't believe me. When I asked why, he said, "Ye've got a tick (thick) Cork accent on ye". I was so excited to hear that!!!) I pass by the Sound Store, blasting American music as it always does, and see my buddy Séamus in front of me. Séamus is a busker, and sings opera for passersby. Some day I'll tell the story of how I met him, but today as I passed, I gave him a smile and a wave and a nod, and received a slight bow and salute in return.
Séamus singing in front of the Tesco.
I carry on, passing by a bookstore, the kebab place, chocolate shops, O'Donovans (the closest off license!), and some of my favorite stores to windowshop, smiling and waving to a couple of people I know. Guiney's, a large but strange store that's sort of like looking through someone's Grandma's attic, is piping a local radio station currently on commercial break out to the street. I'm about at the GPO (General Post Office) at this point, a prime area for buskers, and I'm surprised to see only a very shy-looking, awkward young guy strumming a guitar and singing inaudibly. What I do hear, though, is "Echo! Echo! Evening Echo!" being shouted repeatedly by a now very familiar voice. The same guy sits outside of the GPO almost every day, it seems, shouting the name of this newspaper for sale. I was talking to an Irish friend, and he said he had the thought one day that this guy has probably said the word "echo" more than any other word in his life... then he said he had this thought 9 years ago, so it's most likely true now!
I go on, still hearing "echo" behind me, past the Old Oak and An Bodhran, and the foot traffic begins to thin a bit as I get further from the main shopping area. I pass the tattoo shop and see just ahead of me the sign for Market Lane, the restaurant that is my signifier for the entrance to my street. I cross over to the right sidewalk, and turn just after the little cook store, currently advertising cooking classes in Italian dinners and a sale on pots. My street is lined with uneven paving stones, and I walk on the far right where it's actually more level. I pass by the usual few waiters and waitresses outside taking a smoke break, and the recently built but empty and unfinished Beasly Hotel hangs out over the alley; I see that there are actually a few construction workers inside, and I hope that they don't decide to do any early morning hammering in the future. "Lituanica", the Lithuanian food store (don't ask me why), is on my right, and I grab my keys out of my pocket before coming to the bright red door of my apartment.
I really do enjoy just walking by myself around the city. If only my 5 year old self could see me now! I like to go places that I haven't been yet, and see new things. It's getting to be spring here, the weather's shaping up, flowers are blooming, and I'm feeling more happy than ever here, despite any recent fallbacks. For me, loving my walks to and from class is a metaphor for being here. We all know that cheesy expression, life's about the journey, not the destination. But for the first time, I feel like I'm truly living life, to the fullest, each and every day. I'm wondering if this is part of my journey, or if this could be my destination.
Update: I think this is finally just the beginning of the "journey" of my life... I have a lot more to see before I know my "destination".
Awww Laurennnn this is a perfect description and even though I was only there for what, 4, 5 days, I feel a touch of what I would diagnose as nostalgia. I like the photo of Seamus. I also like that his music stand is a billion feet away from him.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written description, I had a picture painted in my head the entire read. I speak corny fluently, so I much enjoyed it. Love!
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