There's nothing quite like watching the sun rise from an airplane.
About three weeks ago, I caught my first glimpse of the sun coming up over a patchwork of green fields as my plane descended into Dublin Airport. I was ready to begin what I hoped would be one of the most memorable experiences of my life: a two-week study abroad excursion in Ireland.
Before I even decided on a college, I had always said that if I were to study abroad anywhere, it would be in Ireland. Generations ago, my Irish ancestors crossed the Atlantic in the midst of the infamous potato famine, and while I felt connected to my roots, I knew nothing could compare to actually setting foot on that emerald-green ground.
Early last semester, I was crutch-walking down the sidewalk one day when I stopped to pick up a brochure lying on the ground. It was wrinkled with dirty pieces of tape affixed to each side. "UVA in Ireland" was typed on the front. Even before opening it, I knew that this was my trip.
With my fractures still not healed by the time I had applied, I wasn't sure if the trip would even be possible. My move from crutches to regular walking was painstakingly slow, and often, the fractures would be pulsating with pain by the end of the day. I talked to my doctors, who were cautiously optimistic but recommended I take things one day at a time.
Fortunately enough, I was nearly pain-free when it came time for me to board the plane overseas. I'd been warned that the trip involved a lot of walking, but I was prepared and eager to see a new culture and country. My one concern was rain: the fracture sites, even though they were essentially healed, tended to hurt when the air was damp, and Ireland was known for its rain and cloudy skies.
After our group arrived in Galway, though, I realized that rain shouldn't have been the main concern. It should have been ice. As it turned out, Ireland was experiencing the worst cold snap it had seen in 45 years. Local papers were rife with pictures of people falling on the black ice that covered the streets and sidewalks. Fractures from falls were reported with alarming regularity. Adding this situation to Ireland's narrow streets and fast-moving cars resulted in one terrified columnist!
Still, my class and I made the most of our situation and did our best to adapt. We developed the "Galway shimmy" - a sort of foot-dragging, shuffle-step walk that allowed us to walk without falling (for the most part, anyway) - but also caused many locals to give us quizzical looks as they hurried by in heavy boots or Yaktraks.
The ice and cold aside, the trip was unforgettable. We wandered the cobbled streets of Galway, saw the Dublin Castle and the Book of Kells and visited Coole Park, the home of literary giant Lady Gregory. We stood inches from famous paintings at the National Gallery of Ireland and went for walks with poets whose work we'd studied for the course. We visited the rocky landscape of the Burren and stood at the top of the wind-whipped Cliffs of Moher. We enjoyed authentic Irish stew and a few quaint pubs in Galway and Dublin.
Through all the excitement of experiencing a new country, I almost forgot to worry about my injuries. On days when the air was especially cold and even the trees were coated in an icy layer of white frost, however, the fracture sites hurt. It wasn't a sharp pain or a nerve pain, but they seemed to soak up the cold in the air and keep it there, just enough to remind me that there was still some healing to be done. It wasn't enough to slow me down, but I wondered why similar cold temperatures at home hadn't triggered the same response.
Soon enough, I had an answer. On one particular day, we stopped at the Galway Arts Centre for a special concert by three of Ireland's most distinguished musicians. They were a hospitable group who talked to us in between jigs and reels that seemed to fly from their harpstrings and float from their bagpipes. The man who played the bodhran introduced himself as Johnny and conversed with us about everything from the makings of a good bodhran drum to the weather in Ireland.
"The cold here," he said to me after mentioning how unusually chilly the air had been, "it gets into your bones." In other countries like Iceland, the temperature was colder, but the damp air doesn't drive it beneath your skin as it does in Ireland, he explained.
The cold air might have gotten into my bones while I was overseas, but with that cold came much more. Less than six months after my accident, I had been able to go halfway across the world, meet new people, make new friends and see a new country. The last twinges of pain would soon be gone entirely. There was cold in my bones, but there was hope, too - and lots of it.
Courtney's column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at c.hartnett@cavalierdaily.com.
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