Our Fresh Frosh columnists will be spending the year documenting their transition from high school to Northwestern life. Check out all four of our writers — and read their stories.
Imagine a large juicy hamburger. The colors and consistency of which are just so, that you can feel the dribble of flavor running down your chin. You can taste the warmth, the luscious meat lover’s taste, as your teeth tear through the outer, browned layer, through the barely pink interior and through the slightly toasted bun, slathered in ketchup and any other condiments that you will later find dripped down the front of your shirt.
Now imagine that that very burger is illegal.
As my family and I were told over and over again throughout hotels in Ireland, it is an Irish law and a national obligation that all burgers must be cooked well done. The result of this law: Your burger (or hockey puck, as referred to by some) is more likely to come out of the kitchen looking like a different kind of cow patty.
This would all be alright if the Irish could cook anything else. But let’s put it this way. Even the country’s specialties aren’t so special. Throughout our trip, we ate bangers soaked in soap…sorry soup, and fish and chips that could double as a rugby ball and clubs.
The only thing that Irish food competed with was Irish weather.
While in Ireland, I was doused by rain constantly. Ireland was and is currently experiencing a drought, yet it rained every day. One day, we thought it would be nice to visit one of the world’s great heritage sites, the Giant’s Causeway — the Causeway consists of hundreds of basalt pillars ominously carved into nearly perfect octagons and hexagons. But of course, the second we arrived, it began to pour. The imposing basalt pillars instantly turned into God’s deadliest weapon as we slipped precariously across them.
I did take part in plenty of unusual and considerably more enjoyable activities. One was falconing, the Irish pastime. Still jetlagged from the prior day’s 11-hour flight, my brother and I thought falconing would be a sure way to keep us awake until dinner. Upon our arrival we had seen a mother and daughter, along with a guide, extend their arms so that Sapphire, a Harris Hawk with a 4-foot wingspan, could have a place to land and snack before taking off into the trees again. This is how my brother and I spent the evening, our hands ever thankful for the gloves that stood between them and the crushing claws of Sapphire. Watching Sapphire as she glided from tree to fist to tree was remarkable.
Although I faced many merciless meals and was frequently drenched, Ireland was one of the coolest places I’ve visited. I got to gallop across a tidal beach (via horse), play with puppies while watching a sheep dog demonstration, and discover the art of falconry. Had I not suffered Irish idiosyncrasies, I would not have been able to do such exciting things. I have a feeling that college will be somewhat similar. While I do not look forward to the communal bathrooms or the dorm food, I could not be more excited about meeting new people, learning new things, and gaining loads of new experiences.