Although Iowa State encourages prospective students to “Choose your own adventure,” students’ wildest college adventures are often found in nights of partying in Ames or cramming for classes. Not wanting to graduate without my own true adventure, I decided to study abroad this semester in Cork, Ireland. Adventure, indeed – I have discovered that life in Cork is anything but predictable.

Certainly, there are moments of expectedness. My partner in crime, Kayse Nation, senior in communications studies, and I had never set foot on the European continent before our trip to Ireland. We decided to ease ourselves into European life, booking a flight on New Year’s Eve and landing in London at 10 p.m., just in time to take the tube and celebrate the new year.

Predictably, New Year’s was wild, dirty and a bit confusing. However, we managed to make it to our flight to Ireland the next day on a small green plane with a shamrock accent and flight attendants dressed in emerald suits, entirely as I pictured. As I eased into a jet-lag-induced slumber, I heard a crackly voice with an Irish lilt announce we were now approaching Cork.

We arrived at our apartment on Mardyke Walk, which locals nonchalantly refer to as “Dyke Parade”. Thank goodness America’s worst slang has not yet arrived in Ireland.

Our landlady apologized for the “freezing” weather, a balmy 50 degrees with palm trees and brilliantly green grass. Apparently, the Irish have yet to experience a good old Iowa winter.

Tired and hungry, but excited for adventure, Kayse and I trekked into Cork, discovering street signs are nonexistent and local directions mainly consist of “up a ways.” Stumbling across Tesco grocery store, an oasis in a jungle of small shops and street performers, we grabbed a basket and raced down the aisles. With a similar layout and familiar foods, it seemed that Ireland was much more predictable when it came to the necessities.

Looking back, there should have been warning signs posted saying, “Friends don’t let friends shop hungry.” As our purchases mounted, we realized we may well have been preparing for a 10-year famine. At the check-out, our cashier did not raise an eyebrow as she scanned each item and let it slide to the pile below. Only when the next customer began to shuffle through the line did we realize that Ireland is green in so many ways.

Unlike Hy-Vee of the Midwest, Tesco does not bag groceries – nor does it provide “wasteful plastic bags.” With a mountain of food, and customers passing right and left, we began to store cans in purses and salt-shakers in pockets, like squirrels gathering for the winter. So much for predictability.

Later in the evening, we ventured to a local pub and consumed our first legal drinks. Given our dark hair and blue eyes, no one looked at us oddly, and I began to think we blended in quite nicely. Clearly, the study abroad office knows nothing of the great international skills of Julie Young, I thought to myself. No one has any idea that this is my first time in Cork. The moment I ordered a drink, however, it became apparent that my accent betrayed me. People began to smile kindly, but the sort of smile one would give a child who sings too loudly at a Christmas pageant. I realized that, although life can take the girl out of America, it can’t take the American out of the girl.

“Where did you say you’re from?” whispered the man beside me. I realized then the sheer vocal volume of Americans is several times higher than that of people in Cork. I announced that I’m from Iowa, which people are familiar with because of the recent caucus.

“Savage!” he declared, and I furrowed my brow. Since when did the Midwest become primitive and wild? As conversation continued, however, I discovered “savage” is indeed a good thing, and if something is “the craic” it clearly is fantastic, not intended for smoking or shooting up. The only predictable thing about the slang here is that it is impossible to anticipate.

Now, three weeks into Ireland, I am finally beginning to adjust to the nuances of being a foreigner. I store a plastic sack in my purse, and am learning to adjust my vocal volume to avoid sounding like I suffer from Voice Immodulation Syndrome a la Will Ferrell. Although a majority of my predictions about life in Ireland have proven false, I am certain that this experience will at least give me a wealth of stories about my savage life in Ireland. Whether savage will be taken in the American or Irish form, however, is yet to be determined.

– Julie Young is a senior in psychology from Indianola. She is studying Cork, Ireland, this semester.