Sofia Herbst – Journals from Abroad

November 7, 2022

Obrigado

Now we come to Lisbon, that Iberian rascal. I prefer it to Italy, which is an outrageous statement, I know, but I live for controversy.

I arrived in Dublin in the evening, crashed at Megan’s, and slept for approximately thirty minutes before our 2 AM bus to the airport. Most painless TSA passing of my life, which I attribute to my expert packing: all my worldly possessions crammed into one, single Maxpedition backpack that’s seen me through, now, six international junkets. What a loyal friend, that green, ratty thing.

Arrived, again, painlessly. Immigration was a breeze. Had no quarrels with the hostel people when we arrived by, first, the metro, then our own untrained feet that had to be reminded of the woes of cobblestone. We treated ourselves to pastel de natas, God’s bloody gift, which I indulged in excessively. Then we checked out a market near the water where I bought my mother a little something for Christmas. Hit the hay early, I admit. Couldn’t help it after running on a half hour of sleep.

Day two, how salubrious. Walked ten miles with our legs of steel, pursing geocaches (a newly acquired hobby of mine, thanks to Megan’s influence) scattered around the city. Jerónimos Monastery, an utter smack in the face in its glory. Belém Tower, a surprisingly quick line, and built in that exaggerated style I wish, one day, for a future house of mine to mimic. Architectural debauchery, if you ask me, and I live for it.

Girl in red outfit walking towards Belem tower on a cloudy Lisbon day — Architectural Debauchery

Dinner at Faz Frio, whose waiter I danced with shamelessly when the music called for it. Let it be known, cod and wine mix well. To anyone visiting Lisbon in the future, if you don’t eat at Faz Frio, you might as well decline food altogether. It’s practically a religious experience.

Day three, trip to the town of Sintra for a walk through Pena Palace, the vacation house of the royal family (19th century grandeur, to give you an idea), and the Moorish Castle, which dates back to the 8th Century. Pena Palace was furnished, I tell you! No empty rooms, the walls dripping with color and detail and, in one specific room, a green, emerald wardrobe that made me drool. If ever I possess one, that’s how I’ll know I’ve made it. “Megan, look…” said, agog, around every corner, finger pointing here and there to the annoyance of the other guests. There may have been a moment of screaming. Me and my tea sets.

A short pano of Pena Palace, with tree branches framing the yellow fortress — Pano of Pena

The Moorish castle was more of a meditation. A small hike on the walls overlooking Sintra, fog thick, people few (as few will brave the incline). Silence, mostly. “I don’t think you or I realize how old this place is…” The clouds were coming in and the rain was on its way. We made it back to Lisbon before the weather could dampen us, literally and figuratively.

Sofia

November 7, 2022

Dublin, Dear

October was erratic, to say the least. The first portion was spent romancing Dublin, the second preparing, and then traveling to Lisbon, a decision made (as all the best are) by the youthful spirit of spontaneity. (To humble myself, perhaps spontaneity is merely a pretty word used to gloss over the actual sense that overtook me: recklessness or mid-term stressors or that special kind of indifference that is not necessarily a detriment, but rather a shrug-of-the-shoulders symptom in which one trusts in themselves enough to know that they’ll thrive anywhere, and so anywhere it is, anywhere being Lisbon). Allow me to walk you through my month of rapid heartbeats that led up to such an adventure.

I took the train to Dublin so many times, I can’t recall the number. Played games of this-way-that-way until, on more than one occasion, I was looking at deteriorated, Victorian graves in a churchyard near a swanky cafe. (Shoutout to Social Fabric for the best pancakes in town).

One of my strolls included the continuous listening to Blue Oyster Cult, walking down some random street until my legs couldn’t propel me further. The sunset surprised me -reminded me I had only an hour before my train back to Galway. Here’s the POV, but no face-shot of the initial panic.

Sun setting on a random street in Dublin, with a car driving by — Dublin, as the sun sets

I met up with some dear friends on another of the Dublin outings. The already mentioned Megan, and our fellow compatriot, Cara, visiting from D.C. The Guinness factory was “eh,” as I have no affiliation for beer. But the literature shared in Saint Stephen’s Green on that unforgivingly cold autumn day… How lucky I am to have such like-minded people in my life. Bookish and fashionable, obsessed with the art of conversation and unafraid of passion – utterly Oscar-Wilde-esque. The best of our qualities were exposed in the convivial park, home to the comings-and-goings of Dublin’s families and college friend groups.

Three girls in St Stephen's Green. Cara (left), Sofia (middle), Megan (end). Pavilion in the distance. Autumn day, — Musings in St Stephen’s Green

Two young ladies walking over the bridge leading into the heart of St Stephen's Green in the city center of Dublin — A prolonged jaunt

Admittedly, I prefer Dublin to Galway. That is not to say I don’t find pleasure in my current surroundings. But there is communion taken in step-by-step introductions to a new, lonely street. To a statue, to a park, to people-watching from behind the window of a new cafe. I’ve explored Galway to death, but Dubin! Like any significant metropolis, one could live there for half a century and not know there’s a cute deli on x street, a hermetic bookstore on y. It’s an ever-expanding monopoly board. Doesn’t matter how many times the loop has been made.

Sofia

September 30, 2022

Innishmore

A few months before I flew to Ireland, I made a phone call to a dear friend of mine, Megan. The call’s purpose was to, I admit, brag of my upcoming study abroad trip. In seconds, however, I discovered that she, too, by complete coincidence, was to attend university in Dublin at the same time that I was to attend in Galway.

I do love it when the Universe plays tricks on us unsuspecting commoners. Surprises like that never cease to add a little flavor to the pan.

Megan came last weekend, the two of us reading books side-by-side in a student apartment bed meant for one when we weren’t out-on-the-town contributing to the general chaos of the city. The crowning achievement of our reunion, though, was neither finishing fantasy novels nor dancing in pubs. We gave that title to the 10-mile bike ride we took in Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands.

Ferry ride: peaceful. Bike ride: glorious. We rented cruisers and headed down the length of the island, passing horse-drawn carriages and stopping only to pet the ponies and look at the Bronze-Age settlements.

We shared a sandwich from the Jungle Cafe (which we had, the day before, purchased from the popular joint in Galway) over the edge of the cliffs at Dún Aonghasa. I bought a wool hat from an old lady and a postcard to use as a bookmark (as opposed to an old grocery receipt). And Megan, with her keen sense of direction, navigated us over old, stone walls and sunken grass to the “wormhole,” a swimming-pool-like rock formation at the base of the lower cliffs, east of the previously mentioned fortress.

Exhausted upon our return, we stopped for Korean food. It was well deserved, I assure you. 1500 calories burned, according to Megan’s apple watch.

Sofia

Petting a grey pony during the bike ride along the main road — New Friend

Legs thrown over the side of the cliff as I look out at the sea and the distance down to the water — On the edge

Walking betwixt stone walls with fields of green in the background — The additional hike

Using an orange bicycle to cruise down the main road back to the ferry — Cruisin’

September 16, 2022September 20, 2022

Moher

The slow start I’ve had has not hindered me. It took my companion and I a good week-and-a-half to truly settle in, but we have already incorporated ourselves into a friend group consisting of, primarily, Germans with business majors, along with a few outliers on the side, us Americans included. There are twelve of us total, a group large enough to ensure there is always a plan brewing. Thanks to the ambitions of one of us, Hedda from Sweden, we were able to organize a two-hour bus ride to the Cliffs of Moher last weekend.

The bus was public, no bathrooms aboard, no local guide on the speaker announcing the arrival of a castle on the left or a battlefield on the right. We preferred it this way. It allowed more time to pick the brains of our friends and find pockets for laughter over an inside joke that’s made its presence known to every social outing.

At the Cliffs, our group split in two: those of us who wanted to walk the extent of the trail and those of us who preferred to lounge near the entrance. Me being an avid hiker, naturally I chose to walk the extent. We ventured far enough that the majority of the other visitors fizzled out, a charming perk that allowed us relief from what is, quite honestly, an indisputable tourist trap.

Finally alone, the appreciation for the place became insuppressible. One is dwarfed by the Cliffs. There’s no room for gawking, no room for noise. Each moment only allows its guests the opportunity to remember their own pitiful insignificance in the shadow of Mother Nature’s complete, green, frightening reign. I was inclined to fear Her as much as she invited me to take pleasure in the view I was so generously offered.

Sofia

A view of the water and cliffs with some different varieties of grass and plants lining the edge of the cliff — Grass on the Cliffs

A brown cow on the cliff side eating grass — Cliff Cows

I am walking down a gravel path lined with wired fence and rock pieces — Trail Blazing