Glen or Glendalough?

What exactly does a spiritual retreat entail? I wasn't quite sure before I signed up for one and after experiencing it this weekend, I still don't think I really know what it is. Through Notre Dame, I traveled to Glendalough (or is it Glendaloch?) in the Wicklow mountains Friday and Saturday. I don't know if they were mountains or hills, but for the sake of Irish pride, I won't be technical about it. After a quick bus ride, we arrived at our hostel. This was closer to my original vision of a hostel than my previous experience in Portrush, but on the whole it reminded me of a summer camp. Maybe it had something to do with the impromptu basket weaving class they offered. I'm only guessing. Without any rigid, structured itinerary, which is rare for the usually regimented stiffs at ND., we were free to explore the area. The town reminded me of a small West Virginia mining town, minus the abandoned trailers and fireworks stands, but full of rolling hills and cemetaries. Originally, the town was founded around a 6th century monastery. I add this piece of information to make it seem like I'm not just some meathead jerk whose prosaic talents consist of obscure television references and offensive remarks about foreign cultures, but we all know the real truth about me. Unfortunately, I was unable to get many good shots Friday because dark was quickly approaching . . . and I had to avoid the vampires that wreak havoc on the town at night.

After a dinner provided by the hostel, the group split up into smaller groups to talk about our time in Ireland and what had surprised/disappointed us so far. I said I was disappointed that there wasn't any really good gossip so far and not enough people were fighting to make the trip exciting. I hope they knew I wasn't serious, but I was kind of upset they didn't have any new gossip for me. Next up was the game mafia, followed by a game called celebrity. Celebrity involved everyone writing down a list of celebrities and putting them in a hat and having someone else describe the celebrity to another person, kind of like $100,000 Pyramid. It might have been more fun to play with people who watched more TV like me. Here's a sample of names I used that no one had ever heard of: Ted Danson, Larry David, George Harrison, and Dana Carvey. I guess everyone else was born in 1995.

The retreat was led by a priest on Saturday. This guy was an interesting bird. Instead of ripping him to shreds about how odd he was, I'll just say he was eccentric. While telling us stories of St. Kevin, the founder of the monastery, he used one that I'll try to retell here so you get an idea of his character: (While standing in front of a lake) "This lake is where people say St. Kevin met a monster. It wasn't a monster, but in fact it was a worm. But the story has grown and grown into a monster. The good news is, there is no monster in the lake. The bad news is, there's a monster in all of you. You know what I mean. How many of you see psychiatrists?" Later he told us about how in 20 years we'd be going on holidays to the moon and he kept reminding us about how the United States was the greatest country in the world. I wanted to ask him who he thought would perform better in the upcoming Eisenhower-Stevenson debate.

Following his inspirational words, we were given three hours of free time. Most people stopped to eat, but I felt like I should take some of our priest friend's word to heart and "become one with my brother and sisters, the trees around us." So I decided to try to climb a mountain/hill. The mountain was at the far end of that lake on the right. To get there, I had to go through the valley, which appeared to be some sort of abandoned granite mine, full or boulders. There was a reassurance in my feeling of insignificance in nature. The solitude was a welcome change from the crowded room I had slept in the night before and the group of forty that trudged through the woods on the nature hike in the morning. I had nowhere to be, could take pictures whenever I wanted and didn't have to stop when others needed to. As I reached the base of the mountain, I quickly realized that I would not be able to make a roundtrip in less than the 2.5 hours I was allotted, but I proceeded to ascend anyway. walking along a stream for most of the way, I was privy to some select shots of the lake below as I neared the top.


I guess you could say I made it to the top of at least one hill, but i really wanted to reach the highest apex in the area. I kept going, holding onto the hope that I might have a chance to make it, but unfortunately I had to return as time caught up with me. On the way back the sun finally poked out, about the time I would have been at the best spot had I "forgotten" about meeting up with the Notre Dame group. What are you gonna do? I reminded of Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," except that it wasn't snowing, and it was the middle of the day. So I had to rush back to the group, but not before snapping some more fotos.




When I got back, I kind of wished I had taken my time in getting back, especially considering the mass the priest said had about six homilies. After each reading, he would give a sermon and we'd have to walk to another part of the cemetary. Quite the character. We then packed up, left Glendalough for good and returned to Dublin to watch Note Dame get schlacked by USC. At least there was pizza. And plenty to make fun of on the Irish side of the ball. I hadn't seen uniforms that ugly since the Fish that Saved Pittsburgh. So I guess it was a good weekend overall, I just wish I had been able to keep going up that hill/mountain. In conclusion, I'd like to see if anyone has any idea what this sign is supposed to mean. The best I can come up with is "Don't imitate Jesus?"