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by Jennifer Bowman
To make a long story short, my adventures this past month have included me spraining my ankle in Ireland, among many other things. We had four days of independent travel in Ireland, and I screw it up on the first full day by tripping over a rock in the Aran Islands. It's important to know that the Aran Islands are gorgeous, albeit full of rocks. I heard a "crack" and my ankle immediately swelled to the size of a balloon. I was in pain and I was certain that it was broken, and I ended up getting my leg in a temporary cast at the small clinic on the islands and being sent to the mainland, Galway, for the X-Ray.
Needless to say, this put a bit of a damper on my travel group's plans. But they were good sports and they made it through - and it turns out that Lee University insurance pays for all of the costs involved! Yay. And my foot was not broken - it was just badly sprained. So what's a girl dressed in pajamas with a sprained ankle on a Saturday night supposed to do? Go to a pub, of course!
I think here would be a good time to mention that amid all the fuss of getting me transported from the Aran Islands to Galway (I was even carried at one point) that I had left my passport and money and all forms of identification in the hostel on the Aran Islands. So I'm wobbling down the street, with a newly-found friend named Eamon who had also sprained his ankle whom I had met at the hospital and my group. The streets are littered with beer bottles, and every Irish stereotype is true. It was one in the morning. I was kissed by a random guy on the street on the ear, and I saw him get punched in the face
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