Arina Comes to Dublin.

Two Years. Two years it had been since I saw my favourite Dutch friend Arina. The last time had been January 2012 in London to celebrate our Capricorn birthdays and to send me off on my one-way ticket to Australia. Two years was too long to be separated from someone I lived with for a year. We spent nearly every day doing nearly everything together. After only knowing each other for 3 weeks, we went galavanting across Northern Greece for two weeks; taking every mode of transportation to get there only forced us to get to know each other. The year wouldn't have been the same without her has my roommate, and after only a short plane ride, it was hard to understand how we had spent 2 years apart.

We had discussed all sorts of possibilities of what do to in Ireland: from going up to Donegal to a bus trip to the Cliffs of Moher to the Butter Factory in Cork, but we ended up just staying in Dublin. Catching up was the priority, sightseeing a bonus. I really wanted, and needed, to be around the girl who always has a smile on her face, who has a million ideas, who together we think we could save the world, who took a huge leap to start her own company doing what she loves, who laughs, who lives confidently and fearlessly, and who knows me so well. I felt as though I needed her to visit to inspire me again. I missed the long in-depth conversations we had about absolutely everything and anything. When apart, we talk frequently over various forms of social media communication and emails, but it's just not the same.

The first question one asks is, what do you want to eat in Ireland? And what does a Dutch person think of when she thinks of Irish food? Oysters. Wild, local Atlantic Oysters. So on a cold January day, when all of our unplanned plans blew out the window, we found ourselves on the Dart to Howth. Google had incorrectly informed us that there was a farmers market on that day, but when we inquired about it in one of the open shops next to the empty market space, he told us about some of the other highlights Howth has to offer. We walked up Church Street, a narrow steep road that led us through the quiet old village. As we walked around or back down we found a set of craggy steps that invited us to the Radio Tower, or well technically, Ye Olde Hurdy-Gurdy Museum of Vintage Radio. Much to Arina's disappointment, it was closed due to the off season, but we were able to enjoy the hill top views overlooking Howth's piers stretching into the shivering Irish sea. The sight of the sea in front of us and breathing in the fresh air made us hungry for what we came for: Irish oysters and a pint of the good stuff - a classic Irish combination.

We headed back down to the West Pier, home to Beshoff's, Wrights of Howth, and a load of other seafood restaurants offering fresh catches of the day and sea views. We each had an iced platter of 6 Clarendbridge oysters and a cool Guinness. Clarenbridge oysters come from Dunbulcan Bay in South Galway. They are native Irish oysters also known as European Flat oysters which have their own festival in the town of Clarenbridge at the start of every oyster season (September). We sniffed, sipped, slurped, chewed and swallowed whole, sprinkled lemon and dashed tabasco on our oysters. Sitting on high stools catching up on life over good food was exactly what we were looking for.



Our appetites quenched with aphrodisiacs we tipsily went back to Dublin to meet up with Rory at the Porterhouse on Grafton Street to sample some craft beers and what else? Another round of oysters. They were nowhere near as fresh as Beshoffs. More slimy than succulent. Ugly to the point that the quote, "He was a brave man who ate the first oyster" reverberated too true in our heads.

When we were reunited in Ireland, the list of things she needed to see and do here grew. Ireland has so much to offer - not only beautiful destinations but a whole island of food to explore. It has its own language she didn't even know existed. Ireland is also known for its people and as happy as were were together, we spent most of the time properly catching up - she will just have to come back to see, taste, and meet more of the country. 

A Story of Irish Hospitality.

The holidays were over, the family had left, and it was time to come to terms with the realization that procrastination could no longer be pardonable for thinking that all job applications would get lost in the employers' hectic holiday hustle and bustle. After weeks of writing to job openings I was over- and under-qualified for, and blindly writing to companies I would potentially like to work for, but offered no current job openings, I had made no progress. I had received no responses except for one that replied the position had been filled and the posting should have been taken down, and another one that was an automated reply stating that they received too many inquiries and a prospective email will not be replied to (if that even counts as a response.) The hopes that my furiously passionate cover letter and worldy CV might catch their attention enough to write back (I was desperate for anything) was all too soon becoming disheartening. Nobody in Dublin or London wanted to hire me. 
Usually my companion at my side, I had taken to leaving my phone in my bedroom; perhaps discouraged that neither employers nor friends had been calling me. However, with a quick glance at the phone one day, before I knew it, I had three interviews lined up. A phone interview with a company in London, an onsite interview in London, and another one in Dublin. I strategically organised it so I could go to the one in Dublin, catch a flight to London, have the interview there and be there if the phone interview promised an onsite second interview (it didn't) and then I could stay in London indefinitely for any other interviews that might come through after the masses of employers I wrote to finally got around to liking me - I was sure of it (they didn't). 
Everything was slowly coming together. As comfortable as I was in Donegal, hanging out with old friends and new flings, it was time to get a move on and head to the big city. Shoulder bag packed (I'm a light traveler) I headed to Dublin on the John McGinley and was set to meet up and stay with my friend who I had met in Perth, my first friend, and who was now back living in Dublin. I texted him when the bus was meant to arrive in. I texted him when the bus was late. I texted him as we neared the city. I texted him when I arrived. No response.  I called when I got off the bus. No answer. Optimistic me thought maybe he's working late. Maybe his phone died. I wandered around the city in the dark, quite comfortable with knowing the neighbourhoods well and thinking I still had a place to stay for the night and a friend to catch up with. Until it got unreasonabley late. I had headed towards the cobblestone streets of Temple Bar, knowing the bars would still be buzzing any time of the day or night, hoping to find a seat to rest my weary feet, tired from aimlessly wandering the city. I knew Temple Bar-bar (as I call it) always had live music and an enthusiastic crowd so I headed in there for some company and a pint. I sat down at a unheard-of free seat at the bar, utterly defeated. The bartender, a young blonde haired guy noticed my air of frustration as I collapsed into the bar stool with a heavy, discouraged sigh. I ordered a pint of Bulmers and asked if the bar had free wi fi. The brimming bar boasted a deafening multitude of international accents, but he stopped to pay attention to me. He listened as I explained my homeless situation and unresponsive friend, then offered his iPhone to me so I could check to see if my friend had contacted me via some form of social media, in case his textless and unresponsive phone had died. 
"You'll have to go outside the bar though because there's terrible reception in here," the bartender said as he handed his phone to me across the bar. I tentatively accepted it, thanking him as I put a coaster over my pint and walked out the door; a complete stranger leaving him with an unpaid pint and walking away with is iPhone. As I walked outside into the cool night air, I couldn't believe he had trusted me to walk out of his sight with his phone. I could believe that there was no online-word from my so-called friend.
Smiling as I walked back into the bar, I said, "You know I could have used that story before and ran off with your phone."
"I know, I thought about that the second you disappeared out the door, but for some reason, I trusted you. Any word from your friend?"
"No..."
"Don't worry, something will work out, it'll be ok."
His words, although empty of action towards my situation, hinted at an unknown consolation. I nodded as I sipped my cider and wondered what the latest check in for a hostel was; it was nearly midnight. I fretfully mulled over my financial situation and how much a last minute room was going to set me back before my trip.
I kept checking my phone, as you do, even though it was right in front of me, one eye always on it, no lights had flashed on, no noise had beeped, but continued to check it...just in case. And as I did this, the bartender continued to keep me company whenever he could, reassuring me that I'd have somewhere to stay, and somehow managing to always keep my pint of Bulmers refilled and full without anyone noticing it, and without me paying a euro. 
As the lights to the bar came on at the end of the night and the bouncers tried to usher everyone out, the bartender told your one I was alright and by that time had invited me to stay on his couch. After his friendliness throughout the night and his trust of giving me his iPhone, along with the fact that I had no other option, I accepted the kind offer. His friends were coming back with a couple bottles and after a year of traveling around on my own in Australia, I figured this was no different than couch-surfing. The year abroad had taught me to trust myself and my instincts, and there was nothing foreboding about this situation. 
The next morning, as I left for my interview, he gave me a set of keys to come and go from his house as I pleased. Seriously? 
The generous, trusty Irish hospitality must have rubbed off some good luck as I was offered a job with the Dublin interview that day. It wouldn't be a career move, but a move to Dublin and out of Donegal. I almost didn't want to continue with the trip to London, and although it wasn't a complete waste of time as I was able to catch up with old friends and visit the beloved city again, it resulted in two more unresponsive friend experiences. For the second and third time all in that week, I had made plans to meet up with friends in situations where I was relying on them for an offered place to stay, and again, I was left quite literally in the dark, in absolute communicationless silence.  After a year of traveling around Australia where many days I woke up not knowing where I'd sleep that night, I had grown confident to know that something would always work out, but those three incidents that week, which were barely acknowledged let alone apologised for, nearly extinguished all hope or trust I had in people until I remembered the stranger who offered me the utmost friendly hospitality.

Leaving and Arriving. 4 Days. 4 Places.

Friday was the day. The last day. The day to leave Donegal. A late night with friends meant that I slept in later than I had planned. There was a part of me that didn’t want to leave the comfort of Dunfanaghy. Despite the small-town aspect that can feel a bit mundane, I like it there. Some part wanted me to miss the bus and resort to taking the very last option the next morning. The other part of me was ready to go, excited and nervous at the same time – I just had to get the first step rolling to get out of there.  I was extremely impressed with myself that I had managed to narrow my clothes down to fit into my backpack but when the time came to pick it up I nearly tumbled over: it was heavier than I had expected.  As my internal dread of over-packing slowly rose throughout my body and rushed to my head, I desperately took out a pair of sneakers and some shampoo & conditioner – like, really, those are so heavy. There was really nothing I could do, so I jumped on the 16:10 bus and was outta there. Until next time, Dunfanaghy.

 

The bus brought me to Dublin to spend the night with Hugh. It was Friday the 13^th so naturally we watched various versions of the scary movie – recent one filled with bimbos and the older ones with fantastic 80’s outfits and hair do’s. We laughed. We jumped in our seats. We looked away. We pretended not to be scared. We ate quality Chinese food – of course with chips instead of rice – it’s just the way it is in Ireland. Potato. Potato.

I'm waiting to hear you're on your way over here, Hugh. 

I was one step, one day closer. 

Next, Dublin to London. From Heathrow I transferred to Gatwick to meet up with Arina arriving from Holland. Throughout the winter I tried to convince her to come to Ireland for a visit but with a new home and a new job it was a bit difficult. Luckily and ever so gratefully, she came to meet me in London for my last night.  It’s amazing how you can not see someone for a couple months, years even, and then get back together and instantly time disappears and it feels as though you never left each other.  With our fantastic directional skills, we managed to find Ottolenghi – a chef’s restaurant who’s cookbooks I have written a lot about here, his recipes pretty much filled our three days of Christmas.  Right in between our birthdays, it was a perfect setting to celebrate with a glass of prosecco, a bottle of Italian wine, lots of laughs, and small plates and stories to share. As I had made the reservation online, there was a box option for comments where I wrote my usual “Allergic to nuts and swimming fish (shellfish is ok)” so the waiter, after some glances from the kitchen and discussions with the other staff, came over to our table with a paper menu scribbled over with X’s and checks, ingredients crossed out to show me what I could order off of. Pretty impressive restaurant attention.  We were the second to last table to leave the restaurant.  

 Great last night.

The next day, my last day in Europe was spent wandering the Brixton Village markets, eating – apparently – the best pizza in London, wandering the streets of Oxford Circus, Picadilly and Leister Square, eating at Jamie Oliver’s Italian Restaurant, walking down Kensington Church Street to see our old house on Cambridge Place, and having one last coffee on Glouster Road before we parted ways on the tube.  Arina’s enthusiastic bright smile and her supportive, generous hugs gave me the courage I needed to take a deep breath and keep going.

 Prior to flying, Singapore Airlines gives you an option to check out your meal options. Pretty impressive. And pretty tasty.

They also give you your own TV, an iPhone charger, Givenchy socks and a toothbrush, and pretty nice blanket and pillow.

2 hours into the 13 hour flight, right after I had taken half a sleeping pill, the loud speaker came on announcing the presence of a doctor to be made. Oh man, I thought, but she was ok.  And neither did I have to worry about disembarking as a drugged sleeping zombie as I slept for maybe an hour, maybe two, the entire flight. Instead I watched Drive, Moneyball, The Whistleblower, and What’s your Number?

Finally we landed in summer-toasted Singapore and I began stripping off the tremendous amount of layers of summer clothes I had piled on to keep me warm the last couple days in winter-coated Dublin and London. I don’t think I can begin to tell you how excited I was about my 13 hour layover in the Singapore airport.  It may have been the cheapest flight option, but as I looked into it, there was part of me that secretly wished I had stayed a bit longer. It makes sense as it is such an international layover stop to have such amenities for weary travelers. A swimming pool, movie theatre, world-class shopping, restaurants, spa services, hourly hotel rates, free tours into the city, feet-eating fish, shower facilities....it sounded great! And it did feel more like a mall than an airport. I was disappointed to find out that I had missed the free tours of the city as I had arrived at 6pm but then as I looked around and saw signs for public transportation I thought why not take myself in? It was nighttime, I was by myself, and I had absolutely no sense of bearings for Singapore. I couldn’t think of a visual image I had seen of it before nor could I think of any major tourists sites. I didn’t know if it was a safe city or where to go.  I dropped my shoulder bag off at the excess baggage desk and asked the guy what he thought. He said it was the start of Chinese New Years, explaining that it would be busy in town and naming some places to go for some bars and nightclubs. I smiled, replying that my flight was at 7:55am the next morning I didn’t think I would be going to any nightclubs or bars by myself in a strange city. As I walked out towards immigration, I asked for a second opinion to see if it was worth it to go into the city for a couple hours before the last train and if I just needed my boarding pass and passport to get back in. The lady at the immigration desk also mentioned Chinese New Year and started at my wool sweater saying I would be extremely hot wearing that outside. On my way to find some Singapore dollars for the train, I passed the tourist center and the woman there not only gave me a map of the city and the subway, but circled and walked me through all the different spots I could visit within the length of time I had. It was exactly what I needed.  Rather pleased with my adventure, I probably still looked like I was lost as I was the only Caucasian on the train – no one wanted to sit next to me.

awkward traveling alone.

 I got out where I was told and immediately the hot summer night air hit me, and almost as effect, knocked my head upwards as I felt tiny amongst the huge, brightly lit skyscrapers. It was really quite beautiful. I walked around the path around the river that was lined with restaurants and people enjoying eating an array of Indian, Asian and seafood restaurants. I remember walking around, enjoying the night on my own, and thinking how glad I was that I dared to venture out. It gave me a bit more of the confidence I needed to travel alone.

 I got a little lost on my way to Chinatown, feeling a little directionally challenged, but when I found it, wondered how I could ever not find it. The streets were lit up with bright lights and Chinese lanterns covering the car-less roads. On either side of the streets the stores opened up with tables and displays selling trinkets for Chinese New Years, chopsticks, candies, dried mushrooms, glass dragons, fans, iPhone accessories, wild Malaysian fruits, lanterns, dried meats of whoknowswhat and little vendors selling all types of Chinese food like a little Chinese mall’s food court. It was so hot and sweaty maneuvering between the hoards of people I eventually sat down to a cold Tiger beer and chatted with an English guy who owns a bar in Crete and travels for the 6 months of the year doesn’t work. Rough.

 Back on the train, I arrived at the airport with another 7 hours to go.  I wandered, chugged coffee, took a shower, and then sat, heavy-eyed at the gate. Another 5 hour plane ride to Perth, I thought for sure I would sleep no problem. Nope. I was restless. As I followed the flight map on the television screen in front of me, the plane slowly crossing the Indian Ocean, completely surrounded by water, all I could think of was how many sharks there must be in the deep water below us. I’m pretty sure it was the first time the pilot had ever landed a plane. It was awful. I thought for sure I wouldn’t even make it to the ground. We did. Then we arrived and he announced it was 36 degrees Celsius, which is 6 degrees Fahrenheit. What? I was sweating as we stood in line at immigration. Not only for the heat, but what if I wasn’t allowed in?  The guy took my passport, looked at the numbers, looked at them again, asked me if the passport was issued in Ireland and I said no America and he goes hmm I don’t see in here (computer system). Ohmygod. Then he handed me my passport and I was all set to go through.

 All Sharks.

First sight of Australia. 

AHHH HELLO AUSTRALIA!! I made it. 

My. So. Called. Real. Life.

So, "wedding season," or so coined for this summer, is officially over. Well, at least the first wave of weddings - I've heard they go in waves. This summer was packed with showers, festivities, get aways, ceremonies, and parties. As much as I absolutely loved the opportunities to get together with everyone - especially especially after being away in Europe for 15 months - I am ready for fall to settle in and have a little break from all the gift-buying, new dresses (or borrowing really, in my case, thanks Jess), the travel expenses, and the sore dancing feet. The first wedding in May and the last wedding in October were pretty much the reasons why I stayed in America for the summer and put off my post-graduate "Real Life." It certainly wasn't financially possible for me to fly back and forth for each event, nor could I imagine missing any of them. Furthermore, no company was going to hire me and then let me have two separate months off to spend in America. So, originally, the plan was that I was supposed to come back in May and stay for month until my Bucknell 5-year reunion weekend, then spend the summer in Donegal, fly back in September for a month to attend a bachelorette party and then stay for the wedding 3 weeks later. Real Life was pushed back until October 2nd (today is October 12th). I loved being back with my family and seeing my friends again, both in NYC and Portsmouth - especially especially after 15 months apart in Europe - and my sister pretty much convinced me to stay for the summer. A car accident 2 days before I was supposed to get back on a plane to go back to Ireland sealed the deal. Portsmouth eventually won over NYC and I changed my flight back to Ireland to December 1. Real Life would start then. Or, after Christmas when the family goes back to America. Ok, January 2nd. I'll be a day older than 28 and ready to start Real Life. 

I don't regret staying here for the summer. Summer in Donegal would've been filled with a lot of montanaiety (monotonousness?) and alone time. Maybe I would have a lamb for a pet and chickens for eggs every morning and bees making me honey and would have planted a full vegetable garden - but unlikely. Maybe I would've worked up the courage to learn how to surf and not be scared of further-ruining my knees - or was it actually the intimidatingly cute surf instructors that kept me away? Maybe I would've learned how to pour the perfect pint of Guinness - oh wait, I already learned how to do that from living there and working there in the spring. 

Staying in Portsmouth and working for a local farm this summer has been a terrific learning experience. Despite the fact that my friends don't understand what I do at all and my sister thinks that I'm a hillbilly, I don't regret it one bit. I have learned so much not only from the farmers but reading up on the produce so that I can answer questions for customers and write for the farm's newsletter as well as keep up with my own blog. I have a deeper confused-understanding of the pros and cons of organic and conventional farming as well as the reality of it all. Maybe the "confused-understanding" means I don't actually get the reality of it all, but then that blurriness of right and wrong is pretty much the reality of it today. There's so much more that goes into running a successful farm, the politics of farmers markets, and grasping the difficulties of what people eat and what they actually know about where their food comes from is alarming. So much of it people take for granted. Even after this entire summer I have a hard time knowing what to eat or what not to eat: pesticide-ridden but local, morally-righteously but  restaurant-available, eating for the sake of not wasting, or even just having a craving for something when I know I am being hypocritical. 

But all of this has not lead to me to Real Life. The last farmers market ends November 5th. One month in America. Portsmouth? NYC? Then a flight December 1st. One month in Ireland. Can I get a job at Fallon & Byrne again and afford to live in Dublin? Are there even any people in Dunfanaghy in December to possibly find a job? Too many questions, too many unknowns. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed as summer comes to an end. 

Rather spontaneously on a Friday night, I applied for a working-holiday visa to Australia.  Sunday, I was approved. (!!!!!!!!!!!!) The economy in Ireland is too shitty to look for a job. I need to move out of my parents place and be a real 27 year old. I've had my fair share of Portsmouth - love it, but it's time to move on, again. I don't want a corporate job in NYC and any other sort of job will be unaffordable to live there. So, why not Australia? I've wanted to go there since 3rd grade when we learned all about penguins, I fell in love, and learned that there were warm-weathered penguins, the Little Blue Fairy Penguins, living and causing a raucous in Australia. I always thought that a semester abroad would bring me the opportunity to go there, however, a double-major in Spanish taught me that they don't speak Spanish in Australia. 

Lewisburg 4 years. CT 8 months. New York 2 years. Portsmouth 13 months. Italy 1 year. Ireland 3 months. what's next? Australia? why not? my travel lust is calling my name. 

"Why not" probably isn't an acceptable answer. Especially for those who have stable jobs, steady relationships, some sort of career path or even a goal. But for me, I don't. I like taking what life has given me and using it as a learning experience, creating my own stages along the way, and hopefully, it will lead me to where I'm supposed to be. I don't think I'm supposed to know what I'm supposed to do, but I do know that a corporate life is not well suited for mel, and I'm perfectly happy taking what I can get, adjusting and/or improving along the way. I don't have a plan in Australia, yet, just an approved visa. Maybe there was another reason for going to Australia, maybe I lost it. Is it an escape from Real Life going half way around the world or will I find it there? What do I do if I don't go to Australia? Maybe I will miss the next wave of wedding showers, festivities, luncheons, parties, ceremonies, and sore feet from dancing, but I've learned that I can't stick around for those - as much as I may not want to selfishly miss them. I can't put off my Real Life for any one. This is my (so called) Real Life. I've enjoyed this intermediate-pause-on-real-life-but-huge-learning-experience-and-friend-and-family-filled-summer, but I'm ready for "Real Life." Whatever that may be, even if it's half way around the world. 

*I miss you already, but what better excuse than come to visit me?! 

"When I die, Dublin will be written in my heart." James Joyce

i didn't take that many pictures while i was in dublin because i don't feel like a tourist there. and i looved the amount of times people stopped me to ask for directions or thought that i was a local. but then i'd start talking with an american belfast-tinged accent and when asked, said i lived in italy - they were all sorts of confused. 

bridge shots across the sniffy liffy.

showing the local the most touristy spots.

a taste of emilia. feels like home. sorta.

hahaha.

 

organic. free range.

tennis pro's.

sand sculptures at the dublin castle.

ok so maybe this is a lot of photos having said i didn't take that many. but for a week in dublin, for me, this is not a lot.

Murphy's Ice Cream: From Ireland...with love.

A stroll through Temple Bar square caught my attention on Murphy's Ice Cream. Just in front of Bad Ass Cafe, the window on the corner boasted hand written listings of the current ice cream flavours: honeycomb, burnt caramel, Kilbeggan Irish whiskey, vanilla, rum raisin, dark chocolate, real mint leaf, Bailey's, sea salt, brown bread, and Kerry cream to name a few. BROWN BREAD ICE CREAM? Before I knew it, my wandering legs led me right into the little shop. I'm not one for indulging on ice cream in the middle of the day, but brown bread ice cream? How could I resist?! The cute scruffy guy behind the counter was more than happy to let me taste as many samples as I wanted and being as indecisive as I am, I asked if I could have two flavours in a cup (a typical request in Italy). Of course, he exclaimed, and then gave me samples of different combinations on the spoon to see how they would taste together. Burnt caramel and sea salt he suggested. Tasty combo of sweet and salty. I said I definitely want the brown bread. Ok, how about brown bread and sea salt? Sea salt from the Dingle Bay. I love Dingle. McCmbridge's brown bread which has been caramelized. I love Irish brown bread. Or why not try brown bread and Kilbeggan whiskey - award winning from the oldest whiskey distiller in the world from Co. Westmeath. Looking down at my handful of taster spoons, I thought I'd be full of ice cream before I even made a purchase! I couldn't be that person that only comes in for the free samples, but not a bad idea for next time I'm hungry and in the area...

According to the website they use "fresh, local milk from the endangered Kerry Cows. This indigenous species is renowned for its thick, creamy, and delicious milk but has fallen out of favour since its output in terms of volume doesn't match other breeds." It certainly was thick, creamy, and delicious. The sea salt was subtle. The whiskey flavoured ice cream was sweet and retained its authentic flavour. The brown bread bits in amongst the vanilla ice cream was crunchy and crumbly, not soggy - probably due to its crisp caramelization. 

Murhpy's is kinda like the Grom of ireland with seasonal flavours changing every so often and using locally sourced products when possible. A definite Dublin recommendation - even for those who wouldn't normally stop for an ice cream snack and especially for those who can't resist trying something new, tasty, and different. 

Eco Cabs: the way of the future

slow. ecological. environmentally friendly. no pollution. good leg exercise. fun. sustainable travel. completely free. could be fun for a while. could be a fun internship. could be a fun thing to introduce to colorno. HA. i like it. go dublin go.

http://www.ecocabs.ie/index.html