Ruined Abbeys and Confused Students

Sunday was bleedin’ gorgeous outside if you were a transplanted Minnesotan. We spent the afternoon in Roscam, just a few miles from our house, exploring the ruins of an 8th century church, round tower, and grave yard on Galway Bay. It was a Patrician-era monastic enclave at the quiet end of this natural harbor. Pastoral and peaceful. Until the Vikings found it in the 10th century! The more we learn, the odder it seems for our NFL team to be named after this group of merciless, murdering rapist-pillagers who often kidnapped the survivors of raids only to make them slaves. On second thought, maybe it’s not so inappropriate!

Paul started class on Monday. The students don’t know what to make of him, but this is nothing new! The European system is very different, but the students seem to be willing to meet him half way. On the first day, he gave the lone Englishman in the class guff about not being Irish like ‘the rest of us,’ and suggested he sit off to the side. The kid turned pale before he realized Paul was joking. Apparently, jocularity ain’t part of the Irish professorate repertoire! The American has arrived.

In their ‘getting to know each other session’ on Monday, Paul asked students what they intended to ‘do after they finished their B.Sc. degree? Most answers were infused with hope and dreams of a future in the marine sciences. Kieran, however, who hails from the rascal-producing city of Cork, said matter-of-factly, “What do I want to do after graduation? All of ‘da foy’n ladies, to be sure.” He’s only been to class once, but has made a strong impression on his teacher.